Advertise/Affiliate Other Forum Main Page The World Before You Play

Musings of an aimless Mage [Silver!]

Started by Wycliff, November 20, 2017, 01:12:24 PM

Previous topic - Next topic

0 Members and 1 Guest are viewing this topic.

Wycliff

Aven wandered along the streets of Reahj, deep in thought. He wasn't the kind of man to give up: of all the pursuits in his life, all the good and the bad, he never found surrender a suitable option. A strategist, always the one with a fallback plan, staying one step ahead of his opponents, that was his aesthetic, and not one easily abandoned. Or so he thought.

That fire had left him a year ago, when a force he couldn't circumvent handed him an ultimatum: 'Leave this world, or your children will be destroyed.' Gods, the one force that could tie his hands with a glance. A mirthless grin spread across his face at the absurdity of his life, the cruel irony behind his misfortune. It always came back to dark matter, the one crux he couldn't amend. It must have been punishment for delving into the secrets of the universe, retribution for stumbling upon an ancient secret that should have remained buried.

So now, everything he loved was a world away from him: Hakon, Eleanor, Jace, all forever lost to him by a single errant wave of the heaven's hand. It was almost comical how quickly he'd lost everything, the reality of it still slowly seeping into him over the past year. His body would not age to death, not with the dark matter that coursed through his veins. He was doomed to waste away in a world that held no promise, no purpose.

He stopped in front of the Fair Maiden Tavern, a stop he used to frequent in his time as a Captain of Ansgar's hand. He supposed they might remember him; after all, time had passed differently in the other world, barely any time having lapsed in Connloath, while a whole eighteen years was added onto his docket. He pushed the door open, walking in without a second thought. After all, what power does doubt have over a man with no purpose?

The patrons on the inside would be greeted with the figure of a man looking near his thirties, with long, keen silver hair, and a matching beard forming a reflective circle around his mouth. His body was clad in what used to be silver and gold armor, now unpolished and dented. He walked in a slow, deliberate noble glide, one of the few traits he still retained from his former pride. He strode over to the bar, and sat down with a heavy thunk of metal against wood. "A pint of Matron's Root, if you have it, please."


Sent from my iPhone using Tapatalk

Celegwen

Sitting in a tavern alone in the middle of the day wasn't exactly the most attractive trait one could find in a woman, but Thera wasn't aiming to be attractive. She had a job to do that night, so there was only so much time she could spend there before she'd have to make sure she was sharp and attentive.

The tavern was surprisingly busy for mid afternoon hours. The Fair Maiden Tavern was a popular spot for anyone and everyone to gather at, so it was no shock to her that there were other mordecai at the bar.

Thera sat with three empty mugs next to her and a cup of warm water with lemon and different spices in it. Just then, a silver haired man strode into the building with old, damaged armor. Thera watched his proud walk, one that she assumed the man didn't deserve.

When he sat at the bar, she huffed and shook her head at the dramatic clunk of the armor. His order also drew her attention. Matron's Root? She thought to herself. "Pussy," Thera mumbled just loud enough for the man to hear.

Wycliff

Aven shouldn't have been surprised by the congregation of Mordecai at the bar, but after his long absence from the once familiar suppression of his magic power, the man found himself a bit suffocated. Four overlapping auras... you could choke a dragon with this air. As he pondered the thought, an insult rang out beside him. "Pussy."

His eyes wandered over to meet a woman at the bar, several pints already downed. Was she referring to Matron's Root? It'd been his favorite drink nearly his entire life, his go-to when he wanted to relax. The bartender brought him a mug of the chosen tincture, a small raise of his brow in the woman's direction. In all that time, Aven'd never once been called out for drinking the liquor.

A memory flashed through Aven's mind, the musty Tavern of a mining town in Matron's Hallow. He'd say down next to a burly man he'd come to know as Rufus, more bear than human in proportion and hair. The two downed Matron's Root till one collapsed that night, in a drinkoff that would have wafted in that bar as legend for years to come. His scenery snapped back to reality, and Aven took a swig of his drink. If the town hadn't been Demon infested.

Despite himself, Aven smiled at the woman. 'Manners maketh man' was a phase he once heard, as ironic as it was when applied to him. "I take it Matron's Root isn't your poison of choice, Miss?" He took another sip. "Perhaps I could change your mind?" He gestured to the bartender, whose face was just lighting up with recognition. He knew this man! The surprise remained as he poured another tankard, and set it down in front of the woman. A sweet aroma rose from the top, like honey, but followed by a scent of hop that could knock out a bull. A small bit of light glimmered in Aven's silver irises, and he winked. "Heaviest mead I've ever tasted, but it's the only drink that can get the job done."





Sent from my iPhone using Tapatalk

Celegwen

And now he's talking to me, Thera thought, rolling her eyes. Terrific.

"Matron's Root shouldn't be anyone's 'poison of choice.'" She was slightly mocking his tone. He was a perfectly polite gentleman at first glance, which is exactly why Thera didn't like him. She already had to deal with a proper gentleman every fucking night. The last thing she wanted to do was associate with one while she was off-duty.

A few glances her way came from two of the other mordecai, but she ignored them. Men... Thera typically avoided talking to anyone, but her opinion on his drink just had to be voiced. She didn't expect him to have heard it!

Is he seriously trying to change my mind on my drink? She asked herself, not hiding the annoyed look she was shooting at him. Sweet Ansgar! The heaviest mead he's tasted? War worn bastard like that ought to know better fucking liquor than that swill!

Despite it being typically rude to reject a drink from someone, Thera pushed the drink towards him, spilling just a few drops as it moved. "I'm done drinking," she said, shaking her head. "Best to keep my wits about me." Waving the bartender over, Thera pointed at her empty mugs, then at the man. "Bring one for this poor, deprived asshole," she said. "He deserves to know what a real drink tastes like." She glanced at the man with a smirk. "Doesn't have a name. A friend of mine brews this himself and won't tell anyone how he gets it so strong." She smirked slightly. "Name's Thera, by the way."

Wycliff

Aven's brow raised slightly as the woman refused the offer. Fair enough, he supposed, after all, she'd already had three. In a city like Reahj, stumbling around drunk as a woman could get you more trouble than a Mage in Mordecai headquarters; and Aven would know, he was once married to an Adhara.

The smirk on her face was enough to convince him. It was a challenge, and what better did he have to do? After all, the whole reason he came back to the god forsaken city was because he had nowhere to go. He quickly downed his mug of Matron's Root, though his eyes once again lost their light. Faking a smile was never a skill of his.

The Bartender grinned, pouring an unidentified liquid to the brim of another tankard and setting it before Aven. Yes, the bartender remembered the good Captain, one of his regulars until a year back: but if he thought downing a mug of this brew would be like his usual routine, the man had another thing coming.

Aven's eyes scanned the drink, before he glanced back at the woman. "Thera, hm? Well, it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Thera." He picked it up by the handle, and took a short drought, before he sputtered, a bit of the alcohol spilling onto the front of his armor. His eyes were wide in shock, his throat burning. The taste was full bodied and rich, but it had more kick than anything he'd ever drank, at least twice Matron's Root. What the... It certainly wasn't a leisurely drink, that much was clear.

Aven stared back at Thera in silence for a moment, before a small light of life lit behind his eyes once more, and he burst into laughter. "You've beaten me, Thera, I give!" He took a smaller mouthful, savoring the taste. He looked the mug up and down, a new respect for the tincture. "I'm impressed you can hold three of these, you must be a warrior, yourself."


Sent from my iPhone using Tapatalk

Celegwen

The man's reaction to her friend's brew had Thera nearly bursting at the seams. She knew how to drink it, as she had been taught a few secrets by the brewer, himself. Then again, why would she share that with this stranger when she could come off as the badass she truly was?

When he downed the Matron's Root, Thera knew that he was in for a surprise with the new drink.

Taking a small sip of the lemon water, the woman shook her head. "Warrior? Maybe. I'm sure you know how it is. You get stuck in a shitty position and what's there to offer sweet freedom? Best damn drink in the nation."

She glanced around the tavern, locating a window and watching where the shadows fell. Judging by the progression, she had about three hours before her shift with the ambassador started. That was why she had turned down a drink. If it was earlier, she would've happily accepted another, but she had to keep up with the man who apparently didn't sleep when he was supposed to.

It surprised her a bit when the man took another drink. Seemed he smartened up and took a smaller gulp that time. "I can hold my alcohol," Thera said with a shrug. "By the way, my introducing myself was a cue for you to do the same."

Wycliff

Aven blinked between gulps of the strong fluid. Had he not introduced himself? A quick glance at the mug in his hand held a testament to the fact, it was the first time in fourteen years that he'd been knocked on his ass by alcohol. Albeit, only for a short while, his body's regenerative abilities already expelling any buzz he could garner from the drink. "I suppose it was, my apologies, Miss Thera. Your friend's brew knocked the manners clean out of me, it seems." He chuckled, extending a hand.

The question was, what was he going to introduce himself as? Captain Aven Kilandre-Alveron of Ansgar's Hand, or... Is there really any reason to hide behind the title? His eyes lost their spark once more. It was unlikely that he'd leave Reahj again, not alive at least. If he was going to leave the world behind, he'd do it as the man Hakon fell in love with. "My name is Aven Kilandre-Alveron, I'm a Shadow Mage. Nice to meet you!" A smile was evident on his face, the same gentle curve he'd always worn, through good and bad. It felt wrong to leave it behind, even if his heart was worlds away.


Sent from my iPhone using Tapatalk

Celegwen

Thera didn't bother hide her laugh at Aven's confession of being a Shadow Mage, whatever the fuck that meant. Well, he certainly had stones to admit that in the presence of four mordecai! Stones, or a death wish. She'd be fine either way.

"Manners are overrated, Aven Kilandre-Alveron," she said, sighing. "What's a shadow mage, or whatever you call yourself, doing in Connlaoth? I ought to put you shackles right here!"

It really wasn't a genuine threat or anything, just a statement at the probability of him being fucked over because he doesn't keep his mouth shut. In reality, Thera couldn't give less of a shit if he used magic. Not that she would ever admit it, but she had turned a blind eye a few times to her boss leaving her range of power. Not the point.

"You don't know me, Aven Kilandre-Alveron," she said. She didn't need to use his full name, but she always did that a bit in the beginning to poke fun at people who used their full name in an introduction. Most of those people had some undeserved sense of self worth, and she just loved to mock that ego. "Don't assume it's nice to meet me. Ansgar only knows... I just might turn out to be your worst nightmare!" She forced a sarcastic scary look and waggled her fingers before taking another drink.

Wycliff

Aven laughed along with her. She took him lightly, not a bad attitude to take, in all honesty. Thera was among the few Mordecai not to act on those same words. Perhaps he could have a bit of fun here: with the other three Mordecai, of course, maybe not Thera. She didn't seem the 'kill all mage scum' type, but he'd give it a stellar chance there was at least one diehard Mage hater in the establishment.

Eh, why the hell not? From behind Aven, a shadow rose from the ground, taking the shape of thick vine, a tendril of sorts.  The bartender's glance up from cleaning a glass slowly became a horrified stare, as the tendril wrapped around the tankard in front of Aven, and lifted it to his mouth. He another swig, the viscous liquid rushing down his throat, before his shadow set it back onto the counter. He chuckled once more. "What am I doing here? What a silly question, I live here! Besides, I've fought more 'nightmares' than most people have in a year, what's one more?" He winked, lifting the mug for another drink.


Sent from my iPhone using Tapatalk

Celegwen

With a sigh, Thera put her drink down. Seeing Aven's shadow act of its own accord wasn't exactly a familiar sight, but she can't say that she was completely surprised. No mage would be so reckless as to reveal himself to a mordecai without some kind of fearlessness. If he was able to use his magic within four overlapping auras, Thera knew that his magic must've been something new. That explained why she hadn't heard of it before.

"Listen, Aven," she said firmly. Thera was a fairly relaxed woman when it came to how mages lived, but she did have a job to do. Her boss was a slight exception because of their history. She knew him very well and knew that he wasn't going to be a fool with his magic. This guy... He was too full of himself. Ballsy was one thing, but this was something different, and she didn't like it. Her voice was low. "I don't give a rats ass if you use magic in your spare time. Honestly, it doesn't bother me. There are three other mordecai in this place, and they're waiting for me to act against you."

The three other mordecai say together against a wall, all of them with their eyes shifting between Aven and Thera. She had a name in he military, as she was a guard to an ambassador. It wasn't the most prestigious job, but it definitely got her some recognition.

"I really don't feel like having a shitstorm thrown at me due to some fucking mage scum pissing on my name," she said, a fire matching her hair color burning in her eyes. She finished her drink. What no one knew was that it was her own concoction she drank after the secret brew to counteract the strength. She was as clear minded as ever. Standing up, Thera dropped what she owed onto the counter.

A sharp metallic sound resounded, as Thera's beautifully unique sword was drawn from its sheath. The sword belonged to her father and his father before him, continuing for six generations. The other mordecai pounded on their table excitedly, while everyone else fell into a tense silence. "Walk outside," Thera demanded. "I won't fight you in here. Too many people could get hurt."

Wycliff

Aven's eyes slowly widened. She was seriously challenging him to an honor duel! His memory flashed to his training with Hakon, precisely six hundred and seventy three losses to his wife, and not a single win to his name, not when it came to battling against a sword and tower shield. Maybe, though, he could skirt by with a sword to sword match?

It was always an option to fight her with his powers, and it would certainly make matter easier, but the fire in her eyes gave him pause. He was simply fooling around, but Thera was serious about the encounter. It would be nothing short of a disgrace to his family name if he were to win an honor duel with underhanded tactics.

Aven's eyes hardened. "Fine then, I accept." Up from his shadow rose a longsword, silver with a golden, winged hilt. He rose from his seat, hefting the four and a half feet of solid metal with one hand. As he glided past the hushed crowd, he sighed, glancing back at Thera. "For what it's worth, my intention wasn't to drag you into this. Still, if you intend to fight me, do so with the knowledge I am not human. The odds are not with you in this bought." With that, he continued into the street, his plate boots clacking on the hard cobble.


Sent from my iPhone using Tapatalk

Celegwen

The odds are not with you, Thera thought, repeating his words in her mind.

"Your intentions mean shit," she said plainly, walking after him onto the street. Whatever his intentions may have been, they went out the window the moment he decided to use his power in the presence of four mordecai soldiers. It was practically spitting on her words when his shadow was the one to raise the large sword.

Whether he used his powers or not, Thera wasn't worried. She glanced around at the many people outside. There was a decent gathering, but this was outside, so chances of injurying the innocent were much less. She twirled the blade around in her hand. Looking at it, one wouldn't think too much. It was relatively dull, had no special designs on the hilt, and had a simple leather handle. The blade had a lovely curve near the hilt though, and the pommel had a large, red stone in it that could appear to glow when the light hit it correctly.

Thera grinned slightly, waving it in front of her, then kissing the hilt. "Okay, Necrolight," she whispered. "Don't fail me now." Glancing around once more, she shrugged. "Nothing against you, ya see," she said to Aven. "You just can't go around waving your fucking power openly like that."

Wycliff

Aven watched her movements with the blade. It was subtle, but he could instantly tell he was outmatched in skill. After all, he may have been trained by his wife, but he was no swordsman. In truth, his swordsmanship relied on the sheer brute force of his strikes, nothing that a true swordsman couldn't overcome. Or, in this case, swordswoman.

Ugh... If only she had just attacked, instead of challenging him to a duel. It was Hakon's influence again, that little voice in the back of his mind telling him to fight fair. The crux of the situation was easily identified by one glance at Thera's stance, however, and her expert grip. No easy openings, her balance lightly toward the back foot, he wouldn't stand a chance. Odds were, he'd swing, she'd parry across to redirect the momentum, then she'd finish with a quick lop of his head. Aven could visualize the scene vividly.

A sigh escaped his lips once more, and he placed the sword over his shadow, just as it burst into a cloud of black particles, which flowed into the dark ground behind him. "You're wrong, I absolutely can. Though, it's apparent I can't beat you with a sword. To try would be an insult to your skill." He raised a hand, and eight tendrils burst out from his shadow, twisting waving almost hypnotically. "Take pride in that fact."

He'd wait for her to attack, of course. Unless her weapon was enchanted with light, Flame, lightning, or holy power, she'd be unable to cut through his dark matter; and if she did have such a weapon, well, there was always plan 'b'. Aven never was a fan of plan 'b', though.


Sent from my iPhone using Tapatalk

Celegwen

"You're really starting to piss me off," she said, pursing her lips on a tight frown. "I liked you! Showed you my friend's brew, even gave you my real name. But you have to understand that I am who I am. I'm a mordecai soldier, and regardless of who or what you are, I can't let you walk away from this with your freedom. I'll tell you one thing, though. I don't wanna kill you, if I don't have to."

The three other mordecai emerged from the tavern, all of them with weapons in hand. She was the only one without the typical armor, but she wasn't exactly the typical mordecai. For example, what he didn't know was that her sword was in fact infused with a very powerful light magic.

Necrolight, the blade that had been in her family for generations, was created with an ancient source of light magic. Her ancestor who forged the weapon wasn't a mordecai, but his sons after him were. They passed the sword off as holy, or blessed, so they would be able to use the magical weapon. Either way, this was a very powerful blade, to say the least.

Watching the tendrils burst from his shadow wasn't exactly a warm sight, but Thera had faced worse. As soon as the other mordecai saw his magic, they attacked. Thera whistled loudly, an order for them to stand down. Looking at Aven, she shook her head. "One on one," she said.

Before he would have the chance to acknowledge her words, Thera lunged forward with her sword swinging at his shadow's left side. Should the blow connect, the sword's magic, or blessed nature, would be activated, emitting a very bright light.

Wycliff

The tendrils made a move to block her sword; a mistake, to be sure. The blade flashed a brilliant white, and cut through the shadows like a knife through butter. In one stroke, five of the tendrils were disintegrated, dematerializing down to their base. Aven had covered his eyes partially from the blinding strike, but it was enough to daze him and rob him of any opportunity to counter strike. Had he been a younger man, without the experience of fighting fallen angels, demons, and the Void, he surely would have fallen, false pride becoming his downfall.

But Aven was not so foolish. Plan 'b', it is. The remaining tendrils burst into their components, as did his armor, a cloud of dark particles surrounding Aven. Without hesitation, they swirled into a vortex, obscuring him from sight in the blackness.


Sent from my iPhone using Tapatalk

Celegwen

She was proud of Necrolight, as it once again came through for her in a fight. Five tendrils disappeared, more than she had expected and a pleasant surprise.

Almost immediately after the tendrils disintegrated, Aven changed his approach. She couldn't figure out exactly what he was doing, as the tendrils and even his armor suddenly seemed to consume the man in a dark trap. Quickly, Thera lost sight of him in the black vortex.

With a slight scoff, Thera lowered her sword. She took a step back, shrugging and glancing over at the other the mordecai. "My first impression was right!" Thera said to the blackness. "Pussy!" She sighed, relaxing her stance and placing the blade of the sword to the ground with both hands on the pommel. "What kind of man leaves a duel to cower behind a wall of darkness?"

Wycliff

The vortex dispersed, and Aven was... gone? The particles drifted off into the surrounding area, aimless and lost. Slowly, the crowd that had gathered to observe the fight began to clap, more and more until the street was roaring with applause. She'd chased away the Demon! Surely, her reputation would increase with such a public feat.

Of course, the truth of what happened was not so clear cut. In fact, Aven was still present, debating his next move, safely within the confines of Thera's shadow. The vortex wasn't a defensive technique, it was for distraction: the sun evening sun was behind Thera, and thus her shadow extended forward toward where Aven had been standing. Her strike had brought her close enough for Aven to blot the sun with the vortex, overlapping her shadow with the darkness within the eye of the black tornado, and allowing him to meld into it, undetected. Above all else, Aven was a practitioner of stealth. Facing a swordmaster Mordecai with a light enchanted blade head on would be virtual suicide.

The real question was his next move. He could easily escape into the crowd, but it sounded more interesting to wait till her guard was down and spook her.


Sent from my iPhone using Tapatalk

Celegwen

As much as she would've liked to rejoice in the defeat of a mage with the cheering crowd, Thera felt something weighing on her. It just wasn't right; too easy... She'd faced many mages in her time, so she knew how to recognize a spirit that wouldn't quit. That's what she saw in Aven. The chances of him actually giving up after the first hit were next to nothing.

She squinted, peering into the crowd to see if she could spot the man. Clearly that swirling cloud of whatever helped him move somewhere, but just how far was he able to go? Someone of his undeserved arrogance and reckless power-wielding habits couldn't be left to roam freely. That needed to be wrapped up in a neat little bow...or shackles...whichever came first...and locked away for good.

'My name is Aven Kilandre-Alveron, I'm a Shadow Mage.' His overconfident voice buzzed in her ear, like a fly you just want to squish in your fist. She thought for a minute, raising her sword and resting the blade on her right shoulder. Shadow mage, she thought, connecting it to what she then assumed was just a swirling, black shadow. In a way, it was a rather unadvanced magic; without a doubt very powerful, but messy and just too...uncivilized...for her tolerance.

"He's gone!" She shouted with a smile on her face, raising Necrolight high into the air. "Another evil has been driven from our lands!" Glancing down, she smirked. "Let us rejoice!" Thera quickly crouched, driving her light-infused blade into the thigh of her shadow without releasing the handle. It was a gut feeling she had... If she was wrong, she would simply appear to be overly enthused and driving her sword into the ground as an act of triumph to mark the place of her victory. If she was right, though... Something was bound to happen.

Wycliff

Pain spiked up Aven's body as the blade drove into his thigh, cutting clean through. If Aven could speak, he would have cried out in pain, recent years of relative peace having lowered his once heavy pain tolerance. However, in shadow form, his only men's of communication was speech mimicked through vibrating dark matter particles, a process he was certainly not stupid enough to replicate and reveal his position. Rather, to any naked eye, it would seem as though she'd stabbed a simple shadow.

Thera was a smart one, that was for certain, but she wasn't keen enough to aim for a more vital area. Worse yet, she'd backed him into a dangerous corner: she'd caught him off guard twice, a surprising feat, but there would not be a third. As his reconstitution was not quite fast enough to dodge a strike of any notable speed, his only choice if she moved to strike at a vital area would be to sever her arm with a shadow. With the even the keenest of humans clocking over a point one-five second reaction time to visual stimulus, the shadow would cleanly sever her appendage before she could remotely complete her strike. Don't make this mistake, Thera. In all his time dealing with Mordecai, he'd never once caused one mortal harm, nor any crippling injury. He didn't want to start that day.


Sent from my iPhone using Tapatalk

Celegwen

Thera sighed, immediately assuming she was wrong at the lack of reaction from what she believed was just her shadow. Standing up again, she raised Necrolight just to make it appear like she had been overexcited.

She walked over to the cheering crowd to join in the spur of the moment celebration. Several people congratulated her on driving away the evil mage, while others didn't completely know why they were there. Seeing the three other mordecai, Thera nodded to them.

One of them smirked at her, another nodded and went back to the tavern, and the third took a breath. "Where are you off to?" He asked.

"Work," she said simply. "I have a shift with the ambassador tonight."

"Better make a report first," he said. "You know the rules."

Thera groaned, but she knew he was right. Mounting her pure white stallion, the woman started trotting away from the crowd. The sooner she could get the report done, the sooner she could see Declan again and get back to normal.

Tags: