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Post by Lord Rail on Dec 20, 2014 3:25:57 GMT
"An 'M'!" Rail barked, nearly dropping both saucer and cup. He expertly caught them in time before they smashed hard into the edge of the table between shaking fingers and turned with even paler skin to face the glowing orbs beneath the hood. His eyes then darted over to Madame Damara and his brow furrowed. He shocked Diva slightly when he'd panicked, so he figured he should compose himself quickly. Fear was one thing, but coming from the Grand Necromancer could quickly kill group morale.
Rail set one hand on Atticus's knee gently as he frowned, shaking his head. "It is as feared. I have been correlating the letter with anything I can think of, pondering it in silence since earlier...there are two possibilities that come to mind, some as insane add the Wizardry legend. Please, hear me out.
"Midnight. Maedelsa. If we're discussing a threat I put my Darlings there...no, I'm not referring to the state of time. Midnight...an Eldritch Old One. Old as Creation, forgotten to most of the world. She had a reputation in ancient times, and if it's really referring to her, I would be afraid. I fear I must confess I have seen Yet before...the day Zaestra left this world. I think She was watching..."
He closed his eyes for a few moments before turning back to gaze into the boy's eyes. "Or it could be as simple as saying the Sylvan Realm could potentially pose a threat much like their golden cousins to the north. We have remained friendly with the Moon Elves for a very long time, and they provide raw materials from their volcano's southern caves. That, and they provide Goblinoid mercenaries whenever we need them. They remain friendly with the Dominion, though, as well. They are not as kind as we are...that could be a potential problem this young one must face..?"
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Post by Atticus Daegal on Dec 28, 2014 22:28:09 GMT
If one could have seen the face of the wizard who stood amidst his betters, feeling small in comparison and looking around like a cornered rabbit in a den of wolves, they would see that he would drop to a new shade of white in the face any time a dangerous word was mentioned. By the time the necromancer got to the words "goblinoids", he was ready to faint. Did they REALLY think HE could handle all that? While some danger hung over the world like a snake ready to swallow it whole? He didn't even KNOW what this "Midnight" was, but if even the lord of all undead magic was stricken with terror, it could not be anything good. He called her an Eldritch Old One, which gave Atticus major pause. He looked down, then glanced about before speaking again.
"I'm sorry to ask this..." he began, glancing to the other mages as he did. "And if I am speaking out of turn, I apologize again. But whatever this 'Midnight' thing is, if it has sway over darkness and the like, would that not make me a tremendous liability? After all, I am a walking portal to the dark realm and always at odds with my very nature just to contain the things that crawl about under the surface..." he explained. He shook his head, concerned for what was to come. "This... mission, as it were. It sounds far too important to trust to someone like me. I don't worry about myself in this case, but the security of everyone else. I mean... what if I fail?"
And that's what it boiled down to. You could almost smell fear coming off the hooded man, even though he claimed to be fearless. But it wasn't the goblinoids or the eldritch beings he was frightened of. It wasn't his life for which he was afraid nor of injury or pain. He was scared that he would let everyone down, that he would fail in a task that could prove to be vital to the world's survival. All he had to do was find and guide a group of REAL heroes, sure, but what if he didn't know them? What if he chose the wrong people or the wrong path? What if he doomed the world?
"Please..." he whispered, taking a step back as his eyes fell to the ground. His hands crossed over his form, grasping his arms lightly as he shook his head. "Please, my lords and ladies and your highness above all... I cannot be what destiny seems to think I am. I am an incompetent, a hapless dreamer, a walking disaster. Surely, there are other students more skilled and more capable than I. Who am I to make any kind of decision when I've caused so much pain... How can I inspire anybody to come together under one cause when I inspire naught but fear in the eyes of all who see me. It's pointless to deny that you, yourselves, have misgivings and doubts about my abilities, seeing as we've just had how many trials to test my reliability?"
He shook his head again, looking directly to the monarch in the room. "Your grace... I love my home too much to put it in jeopardy with my ineptitude. I will do as commanded, of course, but surely there is someone better?"
His eyes shifted to the two in the room who had yet to test him. He nodded to them to emphasize his point. "Allow me to take the final two trials..." he said with less of a waver in his voice. In an odd way, he felt he had spotted his out. He hadn't exactly been "wow"ing them with his skills the last couple of tests. Hell, he didn't even recognize a simple alphabet letter in his tea cup earlier, and proved himself an easily distracted fool against Lord Aebra's test. Surely, whatever these two had in mind would be insurmountable even by the greatest of wizards. Lady Diva would peel his brain apart as easy as she pleased, being a master specialist, and Lord Brass - who knew Atticus better than any of the others - would know exactly what kind of personal information to use to tear right into the dark one's heart. Besides, Brass was notorious for impossible tests amongst the students. Atticus expected no less.
"I'll do my best... and will trust your decision, but know that I wouldn't trust me were the circumstances reversed..."
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Post by Lady Diva on Jan 2, 2015 20:44:27 GMT
Against her better judgment Diva was the first to perk up to the boy's sudden outburst, speaking out against his directive and bemoaning his cruel fate. The woman seethed quietly as she strode towards him, adjusting her collar as she did, and once more propped herself into the table nearby. She tapped her hand down lightly to get his attention before speaking.
And then she smiled.
"I'm not one to argue when the truth is staring me in the face," she addressed the room, gazing deeply into the glowing orbs serving as the Dark One's eyes. "And I certainly will not deny that even my College sports countless champions far better suited for this quest...I presume the same holds true for the rest of you...however."
She tucked a loose length of hair back and adjusted her diadem slightly. "For better or worse, you have been selected, you alone. Your courage, strength and wisdom will determine the course of events lingering on the horizon. Whether we face Eldritch shadows, or simply another mortal enemy such as the Moon Elves, Creation has chosen you to select our destiny. If it were up to me I would put a Geass on you and direct these paths myself. Of course I'm not a fan of changing destiny. I prefer to let it run its course. Whatever you have, or are...seeing as Ducky was mum about the details, you are a great asset to the Rainbow Tower. You will do as instructed. Keep your eyes firmly locked onto us, for we can protect you."
And then, once she was sure her lure had been solidified, she reached out a hand to touch where his forehead might be just beneath the brim of his hood.
Whatever he feared, she was sure to find it. Maybe a key, or something much more. Whatever the Duke hid within that walking haversack...would be public knowledge soon enough.
"My test will be to prove your mind. Prepare yourself, and clear your head. Wouldn't want to have a headache before the Transmuter's trial."
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Post by Atticus Daegal on Jan 3, 2015 8:37:49 GMT
Once more, Atticus Daegal found himself approached by Lady Diva, and again the odd bit of humor returned to his thoughts of how jealous he'd be making several hundred enthralled fans of her work and her beauty. Twice in one day, she was attempting to get close to him, and yet he wished nothing more than to keep her at arm's length... where she would be safe. A lesser man might ignore that detail.
But he nodded. He heard her words and frankly agreed with them. There WERE hundreds of students more capable than he was, he was under no illusion of anything else. Yes, he was a well-read student and one of the more knowledgeable, but that didn't mean he was WISE by any stretch of the imagination, nor quick of wit like so many he could recount. Why Creation, in her wisdom, had chosen him of all people was a confusing and disheartening thing. He'd go along with it, yes, if that was to be his role, but he wished so badly to truly understand it all. He wanted everyone to have their best shot at safety and security. He always knew that shot lie somewhere without him in the equation.
His thoughts were brought to a halt when he felt the cool touch of Lady Diva's fingers rest upon his forehead. It would not be difficult for her to simply reach into the hood, as it was little more than your standard bag of holding in a new form. Atticus, however, was already considering the fact that she probably was repulsed by his complexion. A lady of her stature was used to gentlemen of refined elegance, who tended their bodies as carefully as an artist minds the details of a masterpiece painting. He, on the other hand, was a pale, pasty thing that was usually cold due to the minimal sources of actual warmth within the pocket dimension held within the confines of his cloak. Again, the irony continued to play its fun little joke. See how many of those well-tended prettyboys receive the honor little goblin-skinned Atticus would be given today.
Lady Diva outlined her intention and Atticus nodded obediently. "Yes, Lady Diva. But... before we begin..." he said softly, meekly. "...I want to apologize in advance. As I've said before, I've seen much and experienced much. When I clear my mind, all my experience will be laid bare for you to see and you may come across much... unpleasantness in your search. Please know I do not want this for you, nor anyone. I do, however, know that this is necessary and accept your decision despite disagreeing with it..." he explained in a calm, polite tone. He wanted her to understand that he himself did not bear her any ill will, as what she would see would be anything but pleasant...
He closed his eyes and did as instructed, falling silent and allowing his mind to empty. He went through the steps of meditation taught in the lowest levels of divination classes and in some of the first lectures on enchantment. He breathed deeply, allowing himself to slip into a trancelike state that would make it exceedingly simple for a woman like Lady Diva to enter his mind and take in all that she could.
What she'd see... was a nightmare.
Things twisted this way and that in the dark shadows of his memory, undulating and without form. The geometry of the creatures that peered across the veil was always in flux, but what remained was a sense of dread, of fear, panic, and misery. You could feel yourself being watched moreso than you could see eyes or other methods of vision. It was like being dropped into a pool filled with your own insecurities, then made to stand on a stage and gawked at by people who want nothing more than to dissect you and use the bits for such horrible, vile, unholy pleasures that you pray to die long before anything has even touched you. And this was only in the SHADOWS.
In the harsh, blinding light of his most surface mind, you could see in physical representation the agony of his situation. Something - arguably human - writhed this way and that, naked and pale. It would scream in pain as its flesh was contorted, ripped forward and stretched like a funhouse mirror reflection in impossible directions before snapping back into place so that another section of the body could distort outward. In motion, it was like watching a human lava lamp that didn't go just straight up and down but sideways and diagonal and reversed and inversed and all, never once separating into smaller bits but always stretching in the fleshy bits with the audible snap and pop of bones dis-and-relocating with every unnatural move. The face was one of pure agony, its eyes falling upon the viewer it could not see but somehow did. They were eyes full of sadness not for itself but for the voices that could be heard...
And the voices... thousands of them, all screaming out in horror and fear. Confused, garbled, dying voices. Frightened, panicked, living voices. All of them over the sound of the Transmutation tower burning, accompanied by the smell of human bodies cooking and the audible roar of fire.
And above it all, like a manifesto repeated over and over, the voices of the council. As unmistakable a sound as glass breaking, telling him that he is expected to do much. Telling him that he is to be some kind of guide, a leader, when all around him the evidence of his ineptitude mounts up. While they spoke, memories would flood in as well, remembering exactly the path he took to those forbidden chambers below the library. Memories of the feeling of the book's leather. Memories of the horrible inked words that would begin the entire experience over and over and over again in his brain. All of this, muffled only by one thing.
Compassion. In the haze of Atticus' mind, that was the one good in all this misery, that he himself actively wished this torture on nobody. All the horror laid bare for anyone to see in his opened mind was a representation of himself, and the pain he endured every day just to keep that twisting horror in the shadows, whatever it was, at bay. This was Atticus at his most private. This was the secret he kept from others by making himself seem calm on the surface, reading his books and speaking softly and wishing nothing but the best for everyone.
When Atticus opened his eyes again at the end of his trance, he felt tired and worn. He had no headache, just an overwhelming weariness like the weight on his shoulders had somehow doubled since he heard that they wanted him to lead come kind of grand procession of heroes to victory. He took a few breaths before straightening himself out, trying not to show any of it.
"Is this trial done? May I rest a moment...? I'm rather fatigued..." he whispered, his eyes half-closed so they resembled two half-circles. "Or are we pressing on...?"
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Post by Lady Diva on Jan 3, 2015 16:48:43 GMT
Diva took a deep breath before extending her pointer finger forward, unlocking the gap between her mind and the boy's. Before she closed her eyes, she offered him an uncharacteristic smile, warm and comforting. With a curt nod, she acknowledged his protests and exhaled lightly.
Everything shall be alright, she thought directly to him, closing her eyes and diving through the proverbial rabbit hole.
Entering the mind was one thing, but even for the Master Enchantress it took a level of skill to circumnavigate each level, subsection and corridor. It was like exploring a strange new world, and as Atticus had warned her, this one was far from welcoming.
When she arrived in the most bitter recess of his mind she found herself alone on a small shore, surrounded on all sides by absolute darkness. The floor ebbed and pulsed beneath her feet like writhing muscles, though instead of a fleshy pink color it was a sickly mess of green and yellow, with black inky swells. Her immaterial body she used to traverse the planes of the mind recoiled from the shoreline when she came too close, as she could hear the swishing of thick waters and writhing of something slippery through the din.
She turned to the skies and saw ambiguous, strictly formless shapes moving to and fro, and though she couldn't see anything resembling eyes, the unnatural feeling she was being watched permeated her entire being.
Lady Diva strode forward when a sudden wail erupted, shaking the fibrous foundation on which she stood, and nearly vaulted headfirst into the black liquid she naturally presumed was acid. But instead of falling in, a flutter from the darkness erupted in both ears, growing closer and closer by the second as she bent forward.
The moment her knee would have been soaked, it instead landed on something solid, and it nudged her back up slightly to her feet. Adjusting herself, she dispelled the heels she wore and elected to move barefoot. She then turned to meet who--or what--had saved her.
It was a tattered book with mottled pages, hovering expectantly before her, flapping its covers in a nonexistent wind. As the Enchantress inched closer, she noticed that anything written on those yellowed pages had been terribly washed away seemingly ages ago. She held out an outstretched hand, but the tome simply dropped back and landed flatly on the water's surface. There was no splash, nothing.
The woman nearly gave up on the book when another series of fluttering could be heard, though this time much louder, and more numerous; a twister of books spiraling through the sky like a flight of birds came cascading down to the shore to meet her, where the first book had dropped to its apparent death. They hovered about Diva for some time before dropping unceremoniously in a straight line outward. The woman approached the first book again, and in response to touching it with her foot, the others elevated behind, forming a narrow staircase for her to follow.
Not the strangest mode of transportation I've seen before, she thought to Atticus, who most likely viewed her as she traveled. She accepted the offer of the ancient, tattered staircase and proceeded to the next level.
She arrived at the peak of a tall plateau, where light had been shed specifically inside the apparent mass of shapeless aberrations. At the center of this monstrosity she found what could only be described as an utter horror; a human, being torn apart in several directions at once, though never completely severing from the main body. It was as if he were a clay form, being molded by whatever foul creator called this place its dominion; she furrowed her brow and stepped forward, only to be assaulted by more wailings, from not a singular entity any longer, but dozens, if not more.
The sounds reminded her of the most hellish beasts ever to be encountered, but instead of whoops and howling of bestial hunger, it was the mourning cries of lost souls, taken by the devourer. Diva eyed the contorting body again, and gazed upward. In her own mind the source of his victim's screams represented itself in a colossal hound with pointed ears, though the beastie had no flesh to call its own; instead its form was constructed entirely of naked, writhing corpses. Her mind made sense of Atticus's shameful horror in the form of a charnel hound, an undead beast she'd encountered as a girl.
Inching back slightly, she realized if she went any farther she might plummet to the inky sea below, so she steeled herself. The beast spun as if chasing its tail and bounded down a narrow stair that in the real world could not fit its entirety. Before she could lose it, she followed, despite the protests in her heart, as she could feel something warm drawing her farther below. The voices above, some of which she recognized as her own, made her feel queasy with uneasiness; this was Atticus's mind, after all.
She came upon a small chamber where the charnel hound had come, but it had long since disappeared, becoming part of the walls as it fought against a force of light shed off a lone, leather-bound book at the center of the room. Curiously, Diva approached it and rest a hand on its cover. Before it, on the floor just behind the table, she saw a nude, pale goblin-skinned boy, huddling in the shadows and clutching his heart. When he gazed upon her, she saw empty white voids, with tentacled masses fighting to escape. Again she recoiled at the swishing sounds and snatched the book away, tearing it open as she reached the no-longer-existent entryway. She yelped, and then distracted herself at the radiant white pages.
She screamed.
Her eyes opened and she stared Atticus in the face, having pulled back his hood somewhere during her trance; her right hand clutched his cheek, portions of her nails biting lightly into flesh. She felt puffiness in her sockets, an itching, burning sensation. She withdrew from the boy and staggered away, toppling over a chair in her path. She turned about the room, taking in the sight of everyone here and saw shadows of their former selves, twisted by the convoluted mind she'd just ventured.
Turning to the apparent Abjurer, whose form was now a vaguely humanoid mass of bright colors with burning eyes, she reached to his chest of scrolls and snatched one from its place, tearing the wax seal and unfurling it with a flourish.
"He passes my test and dooms us all," she said warmly, though her eyes locked on the boy now belied any comfort with which she spoke.
"Home!" she thundered, and the scroll burst into flame as she disappeared in a bright, explosive flash of white light. A single feather from her dress fell to the floor, coated in a black, oily substance, before it dissolved into nothing, leaving the floor warped slightly.
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Post by Atticus Daegal on Jan 3, 2015 23:03:55 GMT
The hooded man took several deep breaths. He considered the Enchantress' final words for a long time. "He passes my test and dooms us all," she had said. Those words would haunt him. "Dooms us all..." he whispered, a hand lifting to his head. For a moment, he was completely unaware that his hood was down, and that his features were exposed. He looked ill, ashy gray and thin. His hair was made silver from stress beyond his years and his eyes were ringed with circles created from a habit of not sleeping too deeply. He slid the spectacles he wore, with their rectangular frames, up his nose in that moment before it registered. His eyes shot open when he realized everyone in that room was in great danger.That was when it happened.
A black, inky tendril of darkness sprouted violently from his cheek, whipping about like a wild animal clutching for a handhold to pull it from a deep pool. It snapped like a whip downward, slicing an unoccupied chair in half. As whatever attached to the other end made its bid for freedom, a strange sound would reverberate in the minds of all attendees. It was like listening to the mad ramblings of an entire asylum at once, overlaid by a strange, cruel laughter. Atticus reeled back, attempting to pull the lashing appendage away from where it would do the most harm. He grasped at the thing, ignoring that it tore lightly at his gloves, and pulled with all his might. Slowly, it began to recede.
"Not... to...DAY!" Atticus cried out as he forced it back through his own skin and grasped the edge of his hood with one hand. He pulled harshly, closing the hood tight and holding it. Where his head was, one could see the shape of the hood bulging this way and that as the creature within attempted to break free still. After a brief moment, it subsided and the darkly robed man slowly straightened, his back to the grand mages.
He slowly turned, one hand keeping his hood sealed shut while the other, barely concealed within a ripped glove, grasped at the edge of his sleeve and slid inside. His arm waved this way and that, feeling for a guide as he stumbled his way to the still-standing half of the broken chair. He collapsed there and sat a moment or two longer before his hand would pull away and reveal those glowing orbs familiar to them once again. He looked to them all with an apologetic curve to those glowing orbs. He reached up, hands still concealed, and pinched the center of his glasses (which had fallen during the attack). He lifted the corrective lenses to his hood and slid them into the darkness there, affixing them into place before placing his hands on his lap.
After an awkward moment, he cleared his throat and looked to them again. "Yes... well... That's that. I believe there is one more test?"
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Post by Maestro Buliri on Jan 3, 2015 23:49:15 GMT
My, my, quite a bit had gone on since the Master of Illusion fell silent! He'd been quietly enjoying the entire show, from the young pup being allowed a moment to sit and enjoy his tea all the way to the prima donna blasting her way out of their company in such dramatic fashion. Hell, if there was something about this yearling wizard he DID like thus far, it was that he could at least get right under the priss' skin. That look on her face when she tried to read his mind was absolutely priceless. He'd remember it all his days. He was just about to bark a laugh and make a joke at Diva's expense when things became so suddenly violent.
The tentacle lashed dangerously close, and he was forced to dive from his chair. It was actually his that the thing broke, unoccupied only because he had vacated it a moment before. The Master Illusionist was about to pop out some serious magic on the thing, leaping to the tabletop with surprising grace for a gnome his size and age. He had two wands already in hand by the time the robed one had spun about and gained control over the monster's tantrum. Bits of paper floated down from where they had been tossed up as the thing struggled within the boy's head and the Maestro let out a loud grunt. "Well, don't that beat all?" he complained as he stuffed the wands back into his belt and hopped down from the table. "It was looking like FUN for a moment there..."
He went and collected an intact chair, the Baron's (which by far was the most ludicrously ostentatious item in the entire room). He dragged it over to his spot and kicked the half of his chair that remained toward the stumbling Atticus so that he would find it and sit. "Jumpin' Gyros, look at this mess..." he grumbled as he retrieved a scroll from his arm and unrolled it. "Have to go and waste a perfectly good fix spell on this nonsense. CLEAN!"
The room began to re-assemble itself as the Maestro wiggled into his newly commandeered seat. "And what the hell did that old bat mean by 'he passes but dooms us all'. What, does she WANT that so she passed him? I'd call that a cataclysmic failure, myself."
He sighed, leaning back as he looked over to Atticus, who despite looking tired and more than thoroughly embarrassed, was already asking for the final test. The Duke's. Buliri chuckled lightly at this, shaking his head. "I'll say this for ya, kid... you've got spirit if nothing else. All that and you're still determined to endure whatever Brass throws at you..."
He looked to Lord Aebra, offering a light shrug of amusement. "Kid gets points for tenacity at the very least. He may be a massive bookworm and a walking time bomb, but he's got heart, I'll give ya that."
That is when he looked to Brass with a wide grin. "I can NOT wait to see what you've got up your sleeve, Dukey-boy."
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Post by Madame Damara on Jan 3, 2015 23:57:37 GMT
Throughout the cataclysmic backlash, only one person had remained almost completely still. The lady Damara had listened to everything that transpired, including the revelation of the M, and what it could possibly mean. Curious that it should show itself twice in one meeting...
When Lady Diva conducted her test, Tzigane was of course very curious of what the student would do. She was almost moved by his concern for the enchantress' well being, going as far as to warn her that he was unsure of the effects his mind might have on her. That, too, was an admirable trait of the boy. However, even the calm and motherly Tzigane Damara, mistress of the school of divination, would have to condemn the carelessness of her fellow Grand Mage when Diva left so abruptly with the boy's protective cloak left undone.
Indeed, she did not move. She could not see where the danger was, so her only recourse was to stay still and wait it out. Her assistant, Kizzy, would protect her whenever the tentacle came too close, using his squat body and long, apelike arms as shields against harm. When it was all over, several of his fingers were bent backward and there was a new gash across his cheek, but if any of this hurt, the undead troll showed no signs of feeling it. It merely waddled back to its place and stood there, silent as ever even as Tzigane reached over and gently stroked its mess of black hair.
"Thank you, Kizzy..." she whispered once more to the creature before turning her attention back to the boy. She did not face him directly, as she was unsure of his exact position, but she did address him by name.
"Atticus Daegal... you are a rare specimen. You endure such pain and think only of the safety of others. You have my confidence in this matter, even if that was all I knew of you..." she reassured him before sitting back into her chair. She smiled to Regina nearby, nodding. "Do not be frightened. The monster is contained..." she whispered, sensing what the royals must be feeling even from her seat...
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Post by The Brass Duke on Jan 4, 2015 1:41:12 GMT
Had the others been stricken dumb, the Brass Duke's perpetual grin would still take first prize in the most foolish looking expression of them all; his eyes were unblinking, trained on the scene before him with an awe fitting someone watching a grand opera. The man's predatory green orbs glistened in the wavering light, wide as the unleashed horror before him made its assault.
The Enchantress's exit went completely unnoticed, and he wouldn't address that until his shock had died down. Back at his seat he stood just over his chair, leaning forward with both hands pressed firmly into the polished wood, so much that sweat seeped from his gloves and dotted the surface. It was only when Buliri's bullhorn of a voice rang out that the Brass Duke came to, biting his lower lip and his right eyelids twitching.
He moved around the table and appraised the recovering child with intense caution, one hand seated on a holster at his side, while the other reached out.
This was what he'd seen before, when they commissioned him to find a solution to the boy's...condition. He worked from his lab at the Estate back then, and his sister was most disgruntled when the Duke and an envoy of guards poured in carrying a black metal box the size of a casket.
"We are not in that business, Lothar! What is that thing!?" his elder sister had said, shielding herself at the doorway with a large history book.
The reason Lucian disappeared--why the tower was destroyed, he'd told her.
In all that time she wasn't pleased, and ventured off to their cousin Lilith's until the man had finished his work, chiding him until she was just a dot on the horizon.
Meanwhile, the Brass Duke had set his best wards and opened a Tiny Hut for the boy to rest in as he worked. It seemed extraplanar boundaries kept the thing at bay, which was just fine with him. A glance at the House's most popular products, and he set to work. In time the boy had a functioning robe made from the same material one could find in a Handy Haversack.
The Brass Duke turned now to Atticus, oblivious to everybody else in the room, and knelt, grabbing the portion of his hood where Atticus held tight.
" 'What do you want to do?' I said once. Do you remember? My amazing little friend, can you remember what you told me that night between wailing sobs? You have a tremendous gift. Others would--should have perished that day; a majority of souls were vaporized at the epicenter, but not you. You believe you are incapable of fulfilling our directives?"
The man chuckled dryly in that rasp of his and stood up, spun around and closed his eyes.
"I believe you said that you wanted to live. In the midst of your travels you will not always be in the safety of the Rainbow Tower or the experienced Mages in control of them. You may run into a situation that you cannot find suitable even to one with your buoyancy or power. What then, if you come overwhelmed?"
The man's wild eyes leered as he spun back to face the young Wizard, and he snapped his fingers. Atticus at this point would begin to feel water forming in his cloak, hot and nearly scalding. If he struggled, the robe would begin to collapse, the power keeping his form safe in a pocket dimension suppressing fast as the Duke directed it.
"What will you do? Would you destroy us all?" The test of adaptability and reflexive thinking. A true Transmutation if there ever was one. The Duke gazed back to his colleagues, a wicked smile playing on his lips.
"For those of you who enjoy calamari, you're welcome to stay. Otherwise, protect yourself. This One's going to be, to be a doozy."
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Post by Atticus Daegal on Jan 4, 2015 3:10:28 GMT
"Here it comes..." was Atticus' first thought when he spotted the Brass Duke walking in his direction. While he had the upmost respect for the new master of the school of transmutation, he also had a very strained history with the man. After all, the first time he actually met the man, he was being brought there screaming in agony and stuffed in a little metal box. Not to mention the fact that this man, who was notorious for being unkind and harsh and judgmental of his students had replaced someone whom Atticus looked up to greatly: the former master, Lucian. The difference in their approaches alone was enough to put a man on edge. Add that to the fact that whenever the Brass Duke looked at Atticus, those eyes of his always made him uncomfortable. Like the man was already imagining what he'd find if he were to vivisect the unwilling student.
And then he started TALKING. Atticus stared forward, allowing the Duke to speak, and oh how he loved to speak. It was like being in one of the lectures he had hijacked all over again. Except now HE was the one being displayed, like a rare curio that needs study. He hated this feeling, but he would endure. Once they saw whatever dismal failure the Duke had in line for him, they'd surely recount their high praises. It would kind of hurt to disappoint so many people, but the alternative? "Doom us all," were the words, surely enough.
But then something awful happened. A splash of shockingly hot water pooled about his feet, but when he looked down, there was not a drop of liquid on the floor. He had jumped in reaction, trying to pull his feet away from the water, but not only did the liquid lift with him, but he could feel the very edges of the pocket dimension concealed under his cloak draw closer. He froze again, gritting his teeth as he felt the water rise. The Duke's voice was almost a gloating tone to him now, as he considered his options.
"This... is a cruel thing you are doing, Lord Brass..." Atticus hissed lightly through gritted teeth. One could actually see the steam rising from his cloak as he sat there, the water coming up to his calves by now. "Yes, I said then that I wanted to live... but never at the expense of so many. What's to stop me from simply sitting here and - AHH!"
He wanted so badly to just sit still, drive his mind AWAY from the pain. However, as the water rose it felt as though it was melting his very skin. He jerked reflexively, the dimension shrinking further. By now, his nose and mouth were exposed even though they were under the hood. A closer look would reveal something crawling about under his skin, as though in anticipation. "Damn it..." he muttered, gripping the chair's arm tighter. "Well, that's not an option... Forgive my disrespectful tone, Lord Brass, but it was really despicable of you to make this cloak..." he said, a sort of sad smile on his face, before looking forward.
"My lady..." he said, nodding to the empress. Without another word, he lurched forward and ran. Every step, he could feel himself being forced further and further from the cloak's protective pocket dimension. The creatures he tried so desperately to protect everyone from began to lash out, almost looking like a strange, alien cape of sorts as the man bolted full speed past the two royals, possibly and quite by accident putting them in some small danger of a cut or two from the sharp edges of the tendrils' barbs.
He made a final lunge, directly into the stained glass window behind where the empress originally sat. By now, the water had risen nearly to his chest, scalding his skin. Not even the quickly diminishing dimension was enough to drain out the water fast enough. He smashed through the glass, tumbling forward into he open air. He forced himself to go limp, so that the spell would not shrink any further, forcing himself to endure the burning for the entire 29 story drop... 30 if you counted the illusory 13th floor...
Down he fell, the tentacles whipping at the sides of the building in an attempt to save themselves. They did little but tear wide gashes through glass and stone, slowing the descent but not nearly enough to stop it. Because the full enchantment was not in effect, the weight of Atticus' body, the dark being trying to escape, and the water Brass had cruelly filled his only breathing space with was pulling him down faster than if he was whole. Despite the pain, Atticus actually laughed at the humor of it all. He started his day flapping weightless on the breeze, and he'd end it falling through the air like a stone.
He fell... his face skyward when at long last he came crashing onto the grand steps at the Rainbow Tower's Entrance. His impact was so hard that it cracked the stone there, his cloak ripping to shreds. The few students unlucky enough to have not made it to a clear distance would receive a very harsh splash as the water was forced from the cloak's embrace, splattering the pavement like a giant water balloon. In fact, some students would swear this was some bizarre prank until the glass started falling.
Atticus' body was broken. His bones were snapped in so many places he feared his ribs might actually be puncturing his lungs. But he was alive. The water, contained by just a small fraction of what was left of the cloak, had acted as a cushion and saved his life. The tentacles, so deadly and dangerous, had ironically assisted when they attempted to save themselves by slowing the fall just shy of a fatal velocity. They now flopped about the ground uselessly, literally severed from Atticus' shattered body and reacting to whatever impulses were still in their muscles as they oozed poisonous purple ichor and spasmed to a slow death.
After all... a broken gateway could not be used. Atticus laid there, bare and broken and in a cloak that would need repair, his breath raspy and strained. His gray skin was torn and bits of bone stuck out here and there, causing him to bleed terribly. And yet he was ALIVE.
By all the gods' cruelty... he was still alive.
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Post by The Creator on Jan 6, 2015 14:03:20 GMT
Regina's blood boiled. When Atticus began wriggling and found that his only out just happened to be in her direction, her entire body seized. She stiffened as he advanced, quietly observing how the boy's cloak seemed to be caving inward as he moved, and steeled herself by clutching the bottom of her seat until each knuckle was white.
Turning, her beloved had already moved to the far wall and had apparently shouted to her, but she couldn't hear him or any of the other Mages. There was a buzzing in her ears as all the blood rushed to her head with each landfall the young Wizard made.
His legs bounded up and over the table, straight for her, and only when he vaulted over the Empress's head did she loose a wild scream; tentacles of varyin length, substance and color whipped about, one even gliding across her fair cheek in the process.
And then she heard the shattering of glass, a gasp or two from the Grand Mages, and she whirled around to watch as the Fallen let gravity consume him. She bolted from her chair and nearly went with the boy, reaching out to catch him as any mortal with no means to correct this would do, but failed.
A satisfying splat and audible crack--even from high up here, due to the barrier, she assumed--could be heard echoing on the winds and she threw both hands over her mouth to keep another scream from escaping.
Tendrils thrashed about violently below for some time, until finally...dying? A stray tear fell off her cheek, and when Charles came to console her, she shrugged him off and spun on the Duke, and by extension, the others.
"Will you tell me what that was!? Lord Brass, you have murdered a student, before the eyes of your peers and before your Queen! You took the poor child's life!"
She gazed at the others, horrified. "What could possibly be wrong with the lot of you? Does Magic do this to people? Guards! Guards! Send a priest below!"
She hollered, and her rage led her to the Brass Duke. She seethed, holding back curses she'd been trained to forget during her grooming, and instead slapped him.
"Answer for your crime," she cried. "How will you explain this to any family he might have? To the world, if he was our savior? What were you thinking, Lothar!"
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Post by Madame Damara on Jan 7, 2015 0:26:44 GMT
"He was thinking..." Damara spoke softly, once again commanding attention with very little effort. She did not look up from under her hood, but once she was certain that the empress had looked in her direction, she continued. "...and quite correctly so, that Atticus Daegal of the Rainbow Tower would put the safety and well being of those around him before his own, and that he would find a creative - if not extreme - means of protecting them."
She patted Kizzy's head lightly as she spoke, her tone even and calm. In many respects, she was like a mother consoling a hurt child.
"Your rage is powered by compassion, your grace. That is to be admired. However, in this case, you may soothe the fire in your heart. The boy lives. A calculating mind such as his must have known that the fall would not be fatal. No doubt it does hurt, but he deduced that if a gateway is broken, it cannot be used as passage. You should commend him for his quick thinking and resourcefulness..."
That last part may have been directed to the Brass Duke.
"As to the question of the Duke's involvement, I'm sure he'll be happy to tell you that he is not responsible for the boy's actions..." she added softly, though there was a slight hint of resentment toward the Duke for his heavy-handed approach. Thankfully though, Damara was clearly not the type to hold it against him. "The boy's solution is his own cross to bear. Though, it might be wise for our dear transmutation specialist to render aid personally, as a sign of good will..." she suggested with a strange, almost KNOWING tone to her voice. It was very possible that she had seen the alternative. It was always good sense to heed Tzigane Damara's words of advice.
Leaning back, she allowed a small smile to play across her ruby lips, in an attempt to dissolve the tension in the room somewhat. "The question now remains - once the boy is healed, what assistance do we render? Where do we send him or suggest he look first? We know not whom the boy must seek, but perhaps if the neutral territories are a potential meaning of our mysterious 'M', he might begin there?"
She turned her head in the direction of the cowering man pressed against the wall. "Perhaps a royal escort, that they may grant him audience with people of influence? It's just a thought."
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Post by Maestro Buliri on Jan 7, 2015 4:47:45 GMT
"And we're all just going to ignore how hilarious it is that the boy's nickname was 'The Fallen', then are we? Anyone? Eh, that's what I thought..." Buliri muttered between stifled laughs once the fiasco was over with. Everyone was too serious for their own good. He hopped off his chair and walked brazenly over to the broken window to look down.
He let an impressed whistle escape his lips. "Damn that's high. Hey, ya figure he felt that thirteenth floor on the way down the outside? I always wondered. Damn if he didn't tear up the entire outside of the Tower though..." he laughed. This was all incredibly amusing to him, and has been since The Fallen passed his test. The boy was unpredictable, and he liked that. "Hey, someone tell whoever scrapes the boy off the pavement to save me one of those tentacles before they dissolve away? I'd like a closer look at those!"
Here, he put a hand to his lips and took a deep breath. He expended a little energy to create a whisperwind spell which would carry his voice the entire thirty stories down to ground level. Of course, he wouldn't use it for a WHISPERED conversation. "HEY! YOU STUDENTS! GET BACK TO YOUR CLASSES RIGHT NOW OR WE'LL THROW YOU OUT OF A WINDOW NEXT!!" he yelled at the gathering pupils. Even from this high up, he would see them scatter like leaves and a satisfied laugh would escape him.
"I am going to milk this one for all it's worth with my students..." he noted before spinning around and walking with high-lifted strides back to his spot in the room. He plopped into spot and grinned widely at the Empress, who had just steamed right in his friend the Duke's face then got the mommy treatment from Madame buzzkill seated across the way.
"You think this is bad, you should see some of the dropouts from Brass' school who couldn't figure out how to transmute themselves into various animals. Didn't one of them suffocate because he was stupid enough to try turning himself into a fish, Duke?" said the gnome as he leaned back in his stolen chair with the fingers of his hands neatly crisscrossed into a headrest behind his bald pate.
"Magic's a dangerous thing by its very nature. Not everyone can make the cut. As for that boy... he's got guts, I'll give him that. Or at least he did. They're all over the pavement now. HAHA! But in all seriousness, he'll be just fine. I think."
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Post by Lord Aebra Cheval on Jan 7, 2015 15:06:51 GMT
Lord Aebra Cheval stood and moved over to the window at about the same time the squat Gnome had, but unlike the Joke Master, the Illusion King, the Abjurer did not laugh. Significant damage had been done to the Tower's exterior walls, and that unsettled him greatly. That, and from what he could tell, a rather large spot on the ground was the child, everywhere on the cobblestone, with students crowing and gathered by the dozens.
He cursed under his breath and then sighed with heavy relief once Buliri called out for the crowds to disperse, and patted the small one on the shoulder as he tottered back to Mordock's seat. He sighed again and turned to the others.
"Your Majesty, the Lady Damara is right. The boy yet lives, and showed much more than quick thinking, resourcefulness and creativity. Atticus showed bravery in the face of mortal danger. We do not have the Conjurer or Grand Evoker's trials, but judging by Lord Brass's grade...I believe he is our Fallen."
He shook his head at the chest near his chair and headed over there, reaching a hand inside and fumbling for several moments. "Seeing as this was your test," he said to the Duke. "You can go down and administer that aberrant spell of yours you've been messing around with. I would like to add after this day's great debacle...I vote we hire a dozen Adepts in the near future...build an infirmary. Why we haven't already thouhht of this, is beyond me."
He held up a scroll and set it on the table before the Brass Duke. "Feather Fall. It'll take too long to get down there by foot, and Lady Diva took the last Teleportation."
He glanced over to Rail, who had sat with his head down for some time now, deep in thought. The man winced. "Rail," he said lightly, letting the words just breathe. "Let us not worry too much until more is known, yes? It could very well be referring to Maedelsa as a possibly hostile uprising.
"Lastly, Madame Damara, from this point we give the child some time to rest once this is over, and then we gauge his first instinct on the matter. Destined by fate, he's bound to choose correctly simply by instinct, so long as he's not actively trying to alter such Destiny at that stage. We shall have to question him once he is ready."
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Post by The Brass Duke on Jan 7, 2015 15:35:04 GMT
The Brass Duke stood from where he knelt and watched as it all played out, his eyes still bright with fascination as the Fallen took desperate measures to come through the day's final test. He smirked callously at the Empress's words and raised a hand to retort, but was cut off by the ever-knowing Tzigane, which he thanked silently. Whatever he may have responded with could have possibly put tension on his House, and his influence in the Royal court would be compromised.
The man grinned at Buliri, and even he couldn't suppress a snort at the "Fallen" comment. He slapped his thigh and waltzed proudly over to the window after Aebra, and gazed down like a hawk awaiting prey.
"I don't need your scrolls," he said defiantly, though his tone suggested he was still in rather good spirits. He kicked up a boot once, just to show them what he meant. "Ten Thousand-League Boots--commonly referred to as Boots of Teleportation. Worth three a day when left to charge properly. I've got this."
And without another word, the man stomped a foot down and was gone, like the Enchantress before him. Although unlike the woman, who had disappeared in an explosion, the Duke dissolved where he stood. Far below on the pavement near a broken body, his form was reconstructed bit by bit, and he appeared kneeling at the base of what could only be the broken cloak's hood.
He reached to his belt, where a large brass-covered tome had been strapped in tightly, and removed it from its place, setting it on the clean stone nearby, glancing evilly to anyone bold enough to still be gawking.
Flipping through his book he found the correct pages and gave them a quick glance before turning back to Atticus.
"I am no preacher," he warned the boy. "And my doctorate is not in medicine, either. But if you will just bear with me a moment I think this might help."
The man sat back on his knees and cupped his hands together before his chest, closed his eyes and began a low, familiar chant. Soon red swaths of raw power began swimming about his palms like hungry, vicious animals in search of prey, before combining themselves between the man's hand to form a small, pearl-like orb of gleaming red energy. A typical fireball spell.
He held it there as it grew, and his hands shook. He charged it as much as he could without letting it free--its intended purpose--and suddenly began speaking another chant altogether, though in Draconic it sounded far less malevolent than an aggressive spell. The red marble bouncing between hus cupped hands began pulsing with an eerie green inner light, and after some more persistent chants, the thing dissolved into his being.
The man's two hands were enveloped in a ghostly green-blue fire, and each trembled as bits and pieces of his gloves began to fray at the edges, the metal in them warping and bending.
"This is Synostodweomer," he whispered to the boy. "For some time I have been studying the application of turning stored spell energy into something positive. In this purpose, I have successfully made a breakthrough. This Fireball was maximized to the fullest extent I could take it, and then converted through the union of Aether into a more restorative compound. I will lay my hands on your flesh now, and just like a visit to the hospital--a more expensive hospital--you should begin to feel your bones mending, your body pulling itself together, and of course...your parasite will take the same effects, unfortunately. The dispel on your cloak has worn off, so you will be able to relax comfortably once this goes through. You did well."
He spun his head back to where he assumed he was being gawked at from above. "Above and far beyond, he has passed my test!" he hollered, before turning back and throwing his immolated hands into the hood of the boy's hood, grabbing his cheek and laying the other palm on his neck. "Heal, and if you come out of this alive, I will make a scroll to copy into your book for later."
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