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Post by Maestro Buliri on Feb 2, 2015 21:07:34 GMT
It was called the Witch's Cauldron. Perhaps one of the least reputable pubs in the entire Eveliegh Empire, this old drinking hole was barely standing. The sign outside was a wrought-iron piece of work that maybe would have looked respectable back when the building was fresh and new nearly 100 years ago. Since then, the entire place had begun to show its age. Wedged in a dark alley in a rough-and-tumble border town, the building hadn't seen light since the road was built and its neighboring businesses took residence. Inside smelled of ale and blood and vomit, the chairs and tables were all shoddily assembled from many... MANY rebuilds due to the constant drunken brawling that happened night after night. The owner was the son of the son of the original barkeep and was an old, angry man to boot. Nothing in the entire place was free from some sort of filth, be it soot from the fire, dirt from the shoes of wandering adventurers looking for a hot tip on where to find their next great journey, or from the bartender spitting into the glasses to wipe them "clean". Nowhere in all of Avalendor would you find a more vile hive of scum and villainy. It was also where Maestro Buliri had earned his title of Grand Mage. A long time ago, longer than even the Maestro would care to recall, he had been sitting in this very pub, listening in on whatever gossip he could find. Of everyone there, he was the only one who could spot the then-current Grand Master sitting at the rough surfaced counter sipping an ale. A brawl had started, as per usual, and despite the grand mage's skill, he was unable to cull the crowd. That was when the tricky little gnome stepped in. Without much trouble at all, the then young Maestro summoned up the images of several beautiful women who lured the whole drunken crowd outside and right into the arms of the waiting armed guard. A little anonymous tip beforehand had informed them of the presence of a few thugs with bounties on their heads. Turned out the night was as lucrative as it was fun for the little gnome. That feat had won the admiration of the old Mage and nearly the next day he announced his retirement - along with his successor. That was so long ago, and yet the pub looked now pretty much as it always had. Still the same groups of drunken travelers, still the same general bloodline at the tap. The only thing out of place was an amazingly shapely woman in a lavish red dress that left very little to the imagination. Her crimson tresses fell over her shoulder and complimented her ruby lips perfectly. A gloved hand gently traced the rim of an ancient wine glass with a blood colored liquid inside. Green eyes scanned the room almost expectantly as she sat at the counter atop a barely stable stool that looked just as old as the wood frame of the building. It was currently the Witching Hour, or more commonly known as the time the drunks were beginning to shuffle home and share their alcohol-induced wickedness with the world. That meant that it would be relatively quiet here... with only a handful of stragglers left behind with the woman and her stool. Buliri quietly wondered if the Brass Duke would recognize him through his clever disguise when he arrived...?
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Post by The Brass Duke on Feb 3, 2015 0:02:06 GMT
"Smell hasn't changed," the Duke said as he turned down the second alley leading to their respective hiding place, keeping his chin held high while paying the urchins lurking about no attention. So many times he'd come down this way, the natives began to understand it was foolish to mess with the Wizard. The last time someone attempted to mug him, the Brass Duke transformed him into a pillar of salt, and had his minions break him down and dispersed between the slum's few markets.
This time nobody approached him, and in fact kept their distance altogether. Some even crept into manholes until he passed, others literally ran screaming. Those ones were the Wizard's favorites.
Eventually the man came to a worn wooden door that barely clung to its hinges, and the rusted sign almost begged to fall on the next unsuspecting drunkard waltzing out, late to supper with his wife. The Brass Duke stood there for some time just looking over the old building's facade, grimacing at the squalor existing at the very heart of the Empire.
He sighed and then crossed the threshold, bracing his lungs for the rancid smells and stale air he'd stroll into. Tonight didn't boast many patrons, but at this hour it rarely ever did anymore. The Cauldron lost its flair when the House of Shadow opened a new drinking hole a block over. That just meant this was the perfect place to go. The other Grand Mages would never show their faces here, except maybe his aunt while she was on the prowl for men willing to do anything, and only the most unsavory of the man's own clients would be here in attendance. The perfect place.
Strangely enough, a beautiful woman was here, sitting alone at the bar in immaculate crimson, enjoying what the Duke could only assume was her favorite wine. She drank unmolested by the other patrons, and it was then the Brass Duke noticed something: she had fair skin, emerald green eyes and seemed oblivious to the ramshackle accommodations. She was out of place. He sidled up to the bar and took a stool to her right, and then ordered a green beverage up behind the counter that sat covered in dust.
When the sickly pale man set down the bottle and a solid white glass, the Duke poured himself a drink and spun to face this strange woman, his face set in a determined, evil grin.
"Such a dismal place, I'm shocked to see someone with your...pedigree, of all places. Are you lost? Or,
"Perhaps there is something you have to do, someone to see? Hm, what could the Great Maestro have neglected to say among his--her colleagues, this afternoon, I wonder?"
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Post by Maestro Buliri on Feb 3, 2015 6:51:17 GMT
The woman who sat there slowly turned to face the Duke as he spoke. Her eyes were somewhat glazed over and she seemed a million miles away. When he finished his piece, she stared at him a moment and when she spoke, it came in a sort of mystified, confused manner.
"I'm sorry...?" she asked, but was suddenly shocked to full attention when a loud laugh came from the stool under her derriere.
"Haha! I knew you'd spot the woman first!" laughed the voice of the Mad Maestro as the illusory image of the ancient seat dissolved into the slightly more familiar gnomish appearance. The woman who was seated there jumped nearly three feet away, then blinked and took in her surroundings in a rather confused manner.
"W-where am I? This isn't the House of Shadow..." she observed, then quickly (and rather embarrassedly) ran out the door.
The Maestro merely chuckled, pulling up a proper stool and climbing up into place. "Dukey-boy, I'm disappointed in you! You of all people should know rule one of illusion is MISDIRECTION. I played a little trick to get that airy-headed waif to come here because I knew you'd spot the strangest thing in the room and immediately be gravitated toward it. I bet you didn't even give your old pal THE CHAIR a thought! HA!" he laughed, then held up a hand to order his usual heavy ale.
While the barkeep went to claim the beverage, the gnome grinned to the Brass Duke in his usual, mischievous way. "As to what I DIDN'T say at our little pow-wow today... well... numerous and ominous be the tidings of my thoughts on THAT matter..." he hinted dangerously. Finally righting himself in his seat, he leaned forward to the Duke, an eyebrow lifted.
"Curious thing, isn't it? All these events lining up so neat and tidy. I know that you know that I am not the type to simply LET destiny pull my strings and I know that you know that I know you feel about the same way. So! The question is - how much of this so-called prophecy do we LET happen and how much do we play a part in? I trust YOU had the foresight to write it all down?"
Buliri looked to his right, where the mug had just been sat. He tossed what appeared to be a small golden coin onto the counter, his usual sign to keep them coming (since it was a trick coin that would disappear in an hour if he wasn't satisfied). Lifting his beverage, one might comment on the fact that the gnome looked ridiculous holding a pint that was nearly half his size, but that particular word fit quite well to a great deal of the Mad Maestro's doings. He gulped down a swig, then set the mug down quietly, looking again to the Duke with purpose.
"In particular... it's the one line that bugs me. Something about having to 'unite the towers' or something like that? You don't suppose whatever mumbo-jumbo from the beyond is trying to imply the colleges might TURN on one another, do you?"
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Post by The Brass Duke on Feb 3, 2015 14:07:18 GMT
The Brass Duke's haughty expression went flat when of all things the woman's rear began to hoot and guffaw, revealing itself as the true Maestro Buliri. The poor woman seemingly fell out of a trance and realized she had been just one more of the Illusionist's many victims to The Practical Joke. Lord Brass pinched the eyepiece holding up his monocle and readjusted it on his nose as the young lady tore away from the bar and out into those unforgiving streets.
Buliri appeared in his--was it?--true, Gnomish form and hoisted himself up on another stool, and the Duke clapped him on the back in a friendly manner, nodding to the man's insanity.
"Alright, that was a good one, I'll admit. I didn't think you'd use a volunteer from the audience this time, however. And from the prominent side of town! Ha, she won't forgive herself for believing she drank that much, I'll wager."
And then suddenly, Maestro's air of comedic fervor waned and that familiar tone of paranoia the Duke himself reserved solely for his house staff (regarding his concerns) emerged, causing a chill to trickle down the human's spine. He leaned over the bar as if coddling his drink, listening intently to the pint-sized Gnome's words, and for a moment felt as if his ears might bleed. Their words felt like sharp knives being taken by children ill-proficient to wield them, and that struck the Brass Duke as frightening.
Once questioned, the man nodded and pulled a slip of parchment from one of the belts at his side; unraveled, the document revealed the contents of today's prophecy, automatically written with magical ink upon the Wizard's command. He set it on the bar and waved off the bartender, who piqued in interest by this point, and turned his full attention to the Illusionist.
"Beware this warning of dark and trouble days,
of horror and bloodshed when armies are raised.
Mistrust and ambition, the spark of hate doth fan.
Seven shall battle across the lands.
Through lust for power, blood shall shed.
Empires in ruin and thousands dead.
A swath of darkness through it slice-
Lead by frozen fire and burning ice.
A long-lost soul from beyond the grave
In iron, blood, and mayhem shall it bathe.
And when Darkness Pure succeeds its goal
The Five shall come to seek their toll.
The world shall lay in deepest ash-
When all of life is made to clash.
Amidst the chaos, a hope may still there be-
Choices made to shape our destiny.
By no leader born nor authority elected,
But by the fallen, the fate selected.
Gathered misfits shall heed the call
And save the lives of one and all.
Many are the trials that they shall face,
Failure or success to determine fate.
To mend the wounds and unite the nations,
To defend the towers, and stop extinction.
Though the weight is much to bear,
One can be many if trust is there.
The world survives or the world succumbs
when Darkness lives and She comes...
The Duke tapped the point in which it spoke of towers with his index finger and chewed on his lower lip in thought.
"Maestro, I tend not to spread the rumors...mostly because that is Diva's job and because I'm typically the one going out of my way to disprove them...but after today's little show? I believe the Towers will turn on one another. Maybe not the way we expect them to, maybe not in that manner at all. But yes, one way or another, without an Arch Mage, these next string of events I feel will be dangerously out of our uniform control. As I mentioned once in our earlier conversations, Lord Aebra wishes to dominate the defenses of our nation. If he were corrupt, Buliri, then imagine our difficulty in stopping him. Diva? She's a witch of dangerous power, capable of dominating another for her own will. Nothing else needs to be said there. She could have Atticus walking off a cliff should it suit her.
"The others are all confusing in their own right. Lord Rail, I couldnt read his motives with a Lens of Clarity, much less with the combined wisdom from a Periapt. As Grand Necromancer, his potential offenses have the strength to match our entire army twice, which would be tantamount to a slaughter on our side in fair combat. We do not want to make an enemy there. Caria, she is mostly harmless. Her desires lead her to other Planes. If she's not dead soon, she will ensure her passage is not in this world. She's a traveler, disinterested in our day-to-day concerns. Now if you want to discuss 'concern', look to Baron Mordock. He's a powerhouse of raw energies just waiting to be set loose on the populace, although he shows a great deal of discipline. He was bred for war magic, though, and manipulation of the natural powers. I will never rule that out. Plus, he desires power as much as I do. Madame Damara won't turn on us, though she will defend herself from any threat. She already knows what may happen, I think.
"As for you and I?" he motioned closer. "We stick to our usual approach and maintain loyalty, and we should be just fine. I have business to deal with on the Market, so who knows what my role will be when the time comes? As well, I'm expected to be an upstanding member of the Royal Family, which means there's no wanton destruction of outlying villages like in our enemy territory. You, you've always been...strange. But I trust you."
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Post by Maestro Buliri on Feb 4, 2015 4:47:02 GMT
Buliri listened closely to his friend's concerns while he pulled out a long pipe from seemingly nowhere and began to light the end with a deft little flick of his wrist. Evocation wasn't his usual realm of expertise, which is why he tended to use little feats of prestidigitation like this to give the illusion that he was more versed than he really was. It was an old trick which he had long shared with the Duke, a match hidden behind his wide fingers and a scratchy surface on his calloused thumb. Little things like this he liked to share, just to show his cleverness from time to time.
The Mad Maestro puffed his pipe lightly, nodding to Brass' words. When he spotted the bartender getting more interested, he wiggled his nose and summoned a ghost sound not far away to draw the man away. No need for anyone to go sticking their abnormally large noses into business where they weren't welcome. Once the man was away, he pulled the pipe from his lips and blew a large, perfectly circular ring before speaking.
"You see, Brass my friend. YOU get it. You see the real DANGER here. No tricks, no illusions, and no lies - The council is an over-powered hazard to itself and everywhere in the WORLD from what I can see. Not one of us is what I'd call incorruptible, myself included. You may trust me but I sure as hell wouldn't," he said with a light grumble. It was VERY rare to see this kind of clarity from the usually blustering goofball that the Maestro tended to be.
"Aebra I'm not too worried about. He's got - pardon the pun - a WALL up around him. I see honor in the man, and that may get him killed. Rail... hell, you put about as fine a point on it as any. He's a mystery and I don't particularly care to have the truth hidden from ME, as I'm sure you can understand. Your dear aunty... SHE actually makes me nervous."
Sitting back a bit, Buliri looked dead into the eyes of his compatriot. The look in his eyes was deadly serious. "I know there's no love lost between the two of you, but if anything you brag about regarding your heritage is true then she's more than just a threat on a magical scale. And the real question is - if it came down to it, is blood thicker than water, Brass Duke?"
It was a big question. Buliri was basically asking if Brass would be willing to commit Familicide if the colleges did in fact go to war with one another. But there was a bigger question at hand and Buliri was about to ask it point blank. A very unusual tactic for the crazed gnome.
"And what if the position of Arch Mage was available but I was an obstacle?" he asked. "Not saying that I'd intentionally opposed you, but if bumping ME off guarantees the position... would you do it?"
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Post by The Brass Duke on Feb 8, 2015 14:09:35 GMT
Of all the other Mages, it was typically Caria the Conjurer and the Mad Maestro who would take the Duke's side in circumstances such as these, and more often than not...it worried him. If even Buliri felt the Circle was hazardous to not only one another but also to the rest of the world, it could only mean that he had some of the same ideas buzzing through his head at times.
The Council is obsolete. One Grand Mage is surely enough, right? I should be Arch Mage. Possibilities, many of them selfish and exclusive, rather than for the people and civilization as a whole. Dangerous thought-crime, of the worst kind. The Duke wondered what it would be like on more than one occasion to be the sole Mage, although it was just a dream.
Eventually he snapped back to his body and tilted his head, noticing the Gnome was obvioulsly awaiting an answer to his question. The Duke hadn't actually caught it, so he had to think back while he was day-dreaming. Those last words made his blood boil, and he clapped the Illusionist hard on the back.
"Buliri, you clown, I thought it was terribly obvious I hardly consider that witch a member of my kin, let alone worthy of the blood flowing through her veins. If the time ever came where we were to meet on the battlefield, I believe it would come down to the most skilled magician. I will not hesitate to put her down, rest assured. It's only a matter of if I could. After all she has put me through, I'm shocked you're asking me that question. It's not like I have any obligations to the bitch. My mother certainly hasn't said a word--hell, she hasn't even showed her face in years!"
The man quickly finished his first drink and immediately ordered a second, as well as a shot of Arachnirum, powerful rum made with the distilled venom of monstrous spiders. He threw back the shot, and took a hearty swig of his other drink before addressing the Gnome's next question; somehow during this time the Wizard's smile fell.
"Maestro, that is an unfair question. You haven't even put any context in-between. What are the benefits of taking you out in our current state of things? And were the Circle to go to war? Illusion versus Transmutation--Maestro, we would make a better team than enemies. No?"
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Post by Maestro Buliri on Feb 10, 2015 19:15:25 GMT
Buliri listened to the Duke's answer and merely smirked. He took a long drag from his pipe full of opium and held it a moment, allowing the drug to play in his head a little before exhaling slowly through his nose. He had a bit of an addiction to this stuff, as it always brought with it some of his greatest ideas and pranks. Listening to the Duke while smoking... well, that only made it all the more fun. The gnome chuckled a bit once Brass was done speaking, an eyebrow lifting to his friend's words.
"We've always been a great team, you and I... but there IS only one Arch Mage seat, is there not? And I have noticed how carefully you have not answered the question..." he said, chuckling a bit before leaning back into his chair. "Context or no, my friend, I know you are ambitious. Always have been. Hell, that twinkle in your eye just a moment ago is enough to tell me you want that seat yourself, since it's due to be put to a vote who's gonna sit there."
The Mad Maestro tapped his pipe lightly, settling some of the substance as he reached for his drink and took a long swig. He set the empty cup down and tapped the table, insisting on a refill. An unspoken game of his was to ensure that he always drank at least one more than his friend, regardless what they were drinking. Sometimes he won, sometimes he lost, but it was always enjoyable regardless. While the cups were exchanged, Buliri grinned again to the Brass Duke. "And you saw how well an actual VOTE would go in this crowd. We need something else, something... a little more SPORTING to make the decision of who's gonna run things now that the mourning period is over. I mean... Can you imagine if by some fluke someone actually voted for Caria or the Cannon??" he laughed.
Another drag from his pipe and Buliri's mug was ready. "Of course, I can't suggest anything outside of tradition to the council..." Buliri mentioned as he reached for his beverage. "You see how quickly I tend to be written off as merely joking. And rightfully so, since I've worked hard to earn a reputation as one who cannot be predicted. But if someone with a more grounded history were to suggest some kind of event to replace our usual democracy.... Well, that would be different, wouldn't it?" Buliri suggested before taking a sip of the ale he had been enjoying.
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Post by The Brass Duke on Feb 11, 2015 13:50:38 GMT
Whenever individuals spoke, something always tended to be revealed what ought to have simply been left unsaid, and it just so happened that during a meeting of like-minded Master Wizards, these conversation ticklers came creeping up on the Duke with fiery vengeance. Lord Brass said little, allowing the Gnome to speak completely uninterrupted while ordering his next drink, simply dubbed "Fireball". He took a hearty swig as Buliri came to a close, and the Transmuter wondered just what the man was playing at.
"You do understand you're asking me to engineer a--War of the Magi, don't you?" asked the man, hovering over his drink and spinning the thin straw about clockwise, irritating the ice just sitting on his drink. "With my station among the Royal Court, I hardly doubt that will have any standing, and the rumors of my lucrative business are so close to the truth barely any of the Mages trust me anymore. Lady Diva's presence within the Noble community is also an obstacle; I'm nothing if not eager to challenge this proposal, Maestro...it is all just a matter of how. Our voting process is outdated, and you're very right. By some dumb luck that senile old woman or gods forbid Mordock could wear the robes. I refuse to allow that. I do want that seat for myself..."
The Duke rose and clapped his friend on the back once more, ordering a pint for each of them. He stretched his legs and cracked his neck, before moving to the stool on Buliri's other side. He never stayed on one for long, as was his light quirk.
"You can't tell me you wouldn't enjoy the golden throne, either, Buliri. I will admit, this idea of yours has potential, but doesn't it fit in with the prophecy?"
Or was the man a genius?
"If we engineer it we enjoy the foundation, control how it functions. This way we avoid the prophetic collapse due to negligence...I see. You won't badger me for having the unfair advantage of weapons' dealing, will you? I can commission a Golem, if you want. Just realize, my friend...word gets out and we could be stripped of title and power. You remember what happened to the last turncoat...Zaestra, she was so angry...I've never seen Disjunction work that way. Professor Lazaran never cast another spell after that. I doubt he could. Do you want to risk that?"
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Post by Maestro Buliri on Feb 13, 2015 18:17:14 GMT
Buliri may play the fool quite often, but if there was one thing his friendship with the Brass Duke must have imparted by now it was that this particular trickster of a gnome was no simpleton. Every word had been carefully crafted to avoid spelling out exactly what he was suggesting while at the same time guiding the world's premier underground weapons manufacturer toward the outcome he desired. A slight, devious smirk formed on the gnome's lips around the mouthpiece of his pipe. "My dear friend... recall that I never said anything of the sort..." he said with a chuckle as he reached up to collect the offered mug.
"A traitor? I? Nonsense, my friend. I'm not the one speaking of sedition and war..." he teased, winking to Brass to let him know that he wasn't about to turncoat on the man, but rather was laying the foundation for the game. "I suggested something more SPORTING, hm? Perhaps a tournament? Something nice and showy that would distract the usually wary eyes of those in power from whatever business you might have on the side..." he said with a little over-emphasis on his words so that Brass would note what the game was.
Distraction. Rule one.
"As to the prophecy... As I said, I don't like being made to play by someone else's rules, BUT... I take a great deal of delight in BENDING them as I see fit. Carpe fortunis, my friend... manifest destiny. I'll see to it that my future is my own doing, thank you very much."
Tilting his head back, Buliri downed the ale in one swig. He wiped his lips with the back of his hand then set the mug down, his head starting to get a little light after the three very different beverages he's had thus far (combined with his short stature). "But back to what you said about having an unfair advantage... poppycock! If this is a game of TEAMS we're looking at, then why would I begrudge an asset? Imagine it, with our skills combined we could place UN-ENCHANTABLE pieces nearly anyplace we like while at the same time manipulating the flow of information for greater strategy. Team Maestro-Brass would be unstoppable!"
With a laugh, Buliri took another long puff off his pipe, allowing the smoke to billow about his bald head a moment as he considered their future. "And when it's all said and done? Maybe there will be TWO arch mages?"
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Post by The Brass Duke on Feb 16, 2015 13:19:25 GMT
The Brass Duke reserved a wry grin for the Mad Maestro, saving it if times when the man truly made him laugh or smile; now was one of those times, but with a slight twisting in his stomach as he felt he might be plotting against his colleagues made it feel somehow bittersweet. The Wizard spun in his chair for a few moments, allowing the alcohol he'd ingested to play around in his belly, do its work. Eventually an idea came, one that wouldn't spell reason, and wouldn't necessarily cause a war.
Necessarily. The key word.
"A competition. A tournament, hm? An elite test of skills from the very masters of the Craft. Expertly detailed trials in which we test how, how useful each Grand Mage is on their own, while pitting against one another. For entertainment, of course, and because it is our job to ensure the correct Arch Mage is selected.
"Or Arch Mages," he corrected.
Scratching his chin, the man plotted silently without any notes or blueprints, having given that up as a student when a rival inventor attempted to steal his work. That young man was nothing but ash at the base of a long-destroyed furnace by now, Brass imagined.
"To make it seem fair--that you and I had nothing to do with this plan, we shall allow for random teams being assigned. You and I shall work together in secret, and pit our respective teammates--we'll call them Pawns--loose on one another and take them out quickly, and when it seems as if we've lost the advantage by "going solo", it won't strike them until they've had a terrible, unforgiving loss at our hands. When we don the robes, there will be no questioning our authority. No more sponsorship disputes, no more arguments over the amount of funding one Mage receives. Only obedience. This world needs a new system...with my brain and your wit, the people of this Empire will never want for anything ever again. And we can finally do what we've always dreamt of, unabated completely."
He gulped down his most recent drink in one gulp, and thought of his young sister Imogen.
"The laws governing creation, life and death will no longer apply. I can find a way..."
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Post by Maestro Buliri on Feb 17, 2015 2:57:07 GMT
A nudge to the side of the Duke serve as the Maestro's acknowledgement that the man was getting the idea. A wide grin crossed his features as he lingered in the hazy screen of smoke his pipe had created about his visage. That this venture had gone so well was quite pleasing.
"That's right, my friend... with the two of us... well, NOTHING is impossible. And I promise you, once all the resources and all the privilege and all the freedom that seat has to offer becomes available, not even Mistress Mortis - or whatever you decide to call death - will hold sway over what we could do."
Once more, the Maestro waved a hand for another drink. Once in hand, he held it up to the Duke, that sly grin on his face that he reserved only for when he was concocting his best tricks. And let's face it - this was a prank on a national scale. "To the victors go the spoils, eh Dukey?" he asked, toasting to a perceived victory well down the road from where they stood now.
For a man for whom appearances were a mutable and ever-changing farce, Buliri saw nothing but bright skies ahead... What that could mean for everyone else... is yet to be seen. After all...
...rule #2 of illusion is to never reveal everything you know.
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Post by The Brass Duke on Feb 19, 2015 15:06:06 GMT
"And only hell for the losers, mark me," retorted the Brass Duke, reaching far over the bar and plucking an amber bottle from the middle shelf, much to the bartender's protest; ignored, the man just brushed it off for fear of being turned into something unsettling, or worse. The Grand Mage regarded his submission with a smirk before raising the bottle to his friend Buliri, tore off the nose with a crushing pull, and dumped its rare contents into two large glasses.
"To Magic, Science, and the new world order. With our combined forces not even the Abjurer would dare challenge us; and if he doesn't see the difficulty in that, we pit him against the Cannon. Can you imagine, a struggle between Wall and Missile? It would answer the age-old question, after all. Ha, Maestro! To Zaestria, for putting quite the Mages together! May she rest in all the pieces she's in."
The Brass Duke took the glass in hand and its contents disappeared in just seconds flat. Then, with a satisfying crash to the counter, glass shards went flying everywhere and the man stood up, brushed himself off and dropped a Superdarling on the countertop. He patted the Gnome's shoulder lightly, knowingly.
"A race to the finish line. I've got a moving castle. I hope you can keep up, my old friend."
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Post by Maestro Buliri on Feb 21, 2015 20:52:49 GMT
Buliri chuckled, then downed his own glass as quickly, matching stroke-for-stroke the Brass' movements as the two goblets shattered into the counter, their usual ritual to end a night of drinking. The gnome snuffed his pipe and stuck it securely back into his coat for later use. With a little hop, he was on his feet.
And then he was leaning against the stool as he teetered and tottered. The alcohol and the opium had worked their magic and he was already on the edge of the "dream world" as he liked to call it. It was the place he claimed to get his greatest schemes and his most magnificent pranks. Judging from the wide grin on his features, he very likely had just happened across something more than a little hilarious in his frame of mind. He let out a barking laugh as he looked up to the Brass Duke's satisfied grin. "Speaking of the Abjurer..." he slurred slightly, though it would take someone like Brass who had known him possibly the longest of any of his still living associates to tell the difference. "We haff to meet with him t'morrow, haddint we?"
With a stretch, the Maestro began to clear his head, determined not to let a glimpse into dreams be the thing to make him look a fool. He was perfectly content doing that himself, deliberately and with skill. "As to races, my friend... I'll just make sure that all the other runners see are paths that lead to disaster for them! Heh..."
Wobbling lightly on one foot, the Maestro spun on the spot and became a perfect likeness of the beauty from the beginning of their evening. "She" Playfully leaned on the man's shoulder, batting shock blue eyes at him. "Until tomorrow, then... stud?" Buliri joked in a voice that NO ONE would suspect was his own, a perfect opposite silky tune to his usual gruff bulldog baritone.
With a wink, Buliri was making his way to the door, looking over a lovely curved shoulder and a flawlessly exposed back. "By the way, Master Transmuter... you want to talk races? I'm already halfway to the door," he joked, then disappeared through the doorway...
((Off to Rainbow Tower > Walls and Warriors))
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