Spellbound Glory

Discussion in 'THREAD ARCHIVES' started by Boss Frost, Feb 25, 2010.

  1. Melissa took a few twist and turn and was completely confused and lost when she bump into Astorath and fell back on her ass, "Owie... I'm sorry.."
  2. "And you were tiny and adorable." Astorath lifted Melissa onto his shoulders.
  3. It was the smell of ancient pages that drew him here. It felt like home, minus the watchful gaze of his old tutor, and with significantly rarer books. A small stack lay to one side as Rogan sat slowly reading the text, it was what he did most of the time when he could. Not only did it stop thinking of the high mortality rate in the 'wider world' as his tutor had called it. He wondered how there were so many people when so many died every time they left the old wizard's home. IN a city of this size hundreds had to die every day.

    He shook himself day to the page before him, but it was useless. He had the feeling they were going to be sent out again today and thus his bag lay ready in his room and his spell were prepared. With a sigh he closed the book and placed it on a small cart. No doubt it would put itself away. His joints clicked as he stretched, and with a loud yawn he stood and walked towards the door, opening it just as one of the other apprentices walked out of the door which lead to all of their bedrooms.

    "Mornin'" Rogan said sleepily to Atinir. "Think theres time for breakfast before we get called?"
  4. "Oh, ye gods!" Atinir nearly shouted as he stepped out just a moment ahead of Rogan who, through no fault of his own, had effectively snaked up on him within a foot's reach. He held a clenched hand over his chest as he turned to face the young man, another of Oloril Taletreader students. He had vaguely worked with him before, but he didn't know much about him.

    "Good morning,"
    Atinir responded slowly, regaining his composure as he rested his left-hand on the hilt of his sword. "There better be time for breakfast, or I bloody well won't be answering any kinds of summons til' I'm bloody well-ready." He paused as he considered exactly what Rogan had said just a second ago, and peered closer to the other young man.

    "You think he's going to call on us again today, don't you?"
  5. Lyra disappeared into the changing room.

    Harmony continue looking through the rack.
  6. Aton never slept. Not in the euphemism of it, either - the lad literally never slept. He never could... he'd lay there, attempting to go to sleep... and sleep would never come. Memories of his past swirled about in his mind... of his home... of his studies... of his family...

    ...Of his death.

    Always, when sleep never came to him, he would get up and create a new mask. He had a good few of them now - a variety of animal masks, colorfully painted and tribally decorated... they went well with the colorful, garish clothes he normally wore - it made him look like a bright, abstract painting. He preferred these clothes, though it was often that he was mistaken for an actor or an illusionist. When this happened, he was sure to play up the part of actor.

    Though this was untrue. His magical art was a great deal darker. The manipulation of life and death is more comfortably handled by clerics and divine orders than those who wield the powers arcane.

    With a sigh, he finishes his new mask. A jaguar-head, colorfully painted so that even the toothy roar of the wooden 'creature' wouldn't be a frightful thing to look upon. He raises it, placing it over his own head, making sure it fit right.

    With a nod, he secured it in place and fearlessly stepped through the room-portal... he didn't much like it. It felt a lot like having one's entire body in a suction, as arctic wind blew about that even chilled his undead bones. He shivered mightily as he walked through the other side.

    "Oh." His young-sounding voice echoed through the wooden mask. He hadn't expected to see people standing right outside, and was momentarily startled. "I'm sorry, I didn't see you there." He apologizes, bowing his head slightly to them. "You're... Atinir and Rogan, yeah? I... don't know much about you save your names and specialties... thought it might be handy information to have. Sort of pathetic of me to shy away from social interaction, but I guess I can hardly be blamed, considering the stereotypes of arcane magic-users..." He mumbled this rant, mostly to himself, though his echoed through the open mouth of the panther-mask like a speaker-phone.
  7. Zanigar puts on the last piece of his armor, his helmet, and takes a look at himself in his mirror. Satisfied at last after hours of meticulous shining of his armor, the House Orien mage opened his door to find three lower classed students standing there. Stamping his armored foot, Zanigar proclaimed, "What in the name of Siberys are you doing just standing in front of the door?! Might I remind you that we ALL must pass through this single door? Now if you don't mind, I'd like to leave my room." And with that, Zanigar pushed his way past the others and walked towards another doorway. Upon speaking a command, the door glowed momentarily. Zanigar then opened the door, revealing a room full of books. Closing the door behind him, the House Orien mage entered the library, picked up the book on Transmutation he'd been going over the day before, and sat down in a large chair. Opening the book, Zanigar began reading through, eager to be done with his training.
  8. Atinir was about to respond to not only that first fellow Rogan, but to the latest fellow to bumble in on their uncannily-timed gathering before the magic door when suddenly that big doofus clad in armour stormed through. He squinted hard at his back as he headed into the library and turned back to the other two.

    "I don't think I like him." He said as he harrumphed, crossing his arms. He then shot a glance over his shoulder back to the library door, and dropped his arms to his side. "Just, uh, don't tell him that."

    "Ahem, yeah, anyways, ah, my name's Atinir. Yep. Came in a few weeks back. Haven't died yet! Woo! Obviously you two aren't dead yet, either. 'Cause it seems like that old elf codger's not even really wanting to find a true inheritor or anything! He's just toying with us! I'm telling you!"

    Thankfully, his voice had dropped to a conspiratorial whisper as he finished that last part. And he had leaned in close to them.

    "Anyways, I say we eat something before the next lesson or mission or test or whatever involves starving to death, or eating a snake plucked from our dreams, or... or... well, something else awful."

    He took the initiative and started ahead of them, maneuvering for the kitchen and/or dining area. Either or. Food was bound to be found in one of them.
  9. Rogan scowled at Zanigar's back as it disappeared. Not like this was the first time there had been congestion at their shared door. Hell Rogan had opened the door to another apprentice changing before now.

    Chosing to ignore him Rogan turned to follow Atinir instead.

    "Thats a nice mask." He said to Aton. "You make those yourself? I've seen you around with them. Though I do spend most of my tie in the library..... Mr..." His tone was as ever formal though pleasent as you might find a court retainer using, or a diplomat. "Aton... isn't it?"
  10. Aton was not as discreet with his displeasure. "Asshole!" He called after the rude apprentice, before regaining his composure. "Ahem... 'scuze me." Obviously, undeath had made him a little more bold when it came to loose lips, but it had it's advantages.

    "Yes. I've already eaten, but I will gladly join you in the kitchens." A lie - he hadn't had to eat since he died. But there's not a single reason he should reveal that to his companions yet.

    The young man knocked on his 'head'. "Yeah, I make the masks myself. Figure I should wear something colorful to set me apart from my school's other members... that, and I have reasons to not reveal my appearance. It would prove difficult for myself and my family." True enough, at least where he was concerned. Wealthy families often had their sons and daughters taught some sort of magic, but keep it secret from the other politicians and rival families... a trump card, so to speak.

    "The Master was walking around with a big smile on his face yesterday. I fear that whatever he has us do, it'll be tough."
  11. "Tough, tough, always tough!" Atinir whined, his mouth full of crusty, freshly baked bread. He had found a basket full of still-warm buns and rolls, and had helped himself to it greedily. He couldn't find any butter, or fat, or honey, so he satiated himself greedily with what was at hand. He intended on finding some cured meat later, anyways.

    "Why can't we just have a time for study hall, with that old cranky fart giving us a few pointers before telling us to run along, we'll be graded later! NNNOOO. He says something cryptic, and then we have to kill a giant armoured lizard. That breathes poison and spits acid. And bleeds fire."

    He sighed after swallowing another mouthfull of bread, and picked up the basket to pre-empt Aton and Rogan, bringing it over to them.

    "So it's Rogan and... uh... Atan, is it? Aton? Sorry, I'm not so good with names. Here, try the bread; I don't think the old fart baked it, but it's good!"

    And maybe we'll eat all of it before that rude-ass in the library comes out. Haha!

  12. Rogan nodded, he could understand someone having to keep their identity hidden. A sobering thought was he and Aton could have met at some noble gathering or another and Aton could even recognize Rogan but be unable to say so.

    "I hate to think' he said as they entered the kitchen, "Wonder how many of us need to buy it before hes satisfied"

    He was half joking and a smile played on his lips as he took a roll from the basket offered by Atinir. "Though if he was smiling it can't be good for us, and I think its safe to say there are few enough left so that we're going together on this one."
  13. "Even if we weren't teaming up, I'd suggest it just for survivability. I have a hunch that's what the Master was attempting to teach us the entire time... it's just that we didn't quite get it, or were too proud. It's a pity, all those deaths. Surprised the Master is getting away with it, actually. I figure it's because he's both elven, and an Archmage. Getting away with stuff like this must be child's play."

    Aton sighs slowly, shaking his masked head in shame. "Of course, I figure had we been a little wiser, it wouldn't be down to us... what is the count now? Nine? Yourselves, the rude man, that monstrous sorcerer, the elven youth, the devout one, that jerk-bard, the gnommish woman, and myself... yikes. What a group."

    "...Oh! You're a... Transmuter, if I remember right..." He nods to Rogan. "And you're one of the best Evokers we've got..." He thinks about it for a second. "We might have a pretty darn good chance of survival no matter what we're up against. We've got a good mix of specialties... maybe a little planning once the... 'lesson' - and I use that term loosely - is given... we'll be able to make it through no problem, I think." Leaving his own specialty out of the mix. If they didn't know, then he'd have to apologize later. It's not the sort of thing one lets drop in polite conversation.
  14. Teaming up? Increased survivability? That's a--

    "Great idea!"
    Atinir triumphantly announced in response. Of course, Atinir had already thought it up sooner, weeks ago in fact, but he knew from personal experience (having been trained at a Warmage College, after all) that wizards, mages, and other folks of the spell-casting variety had a propensity towards the haughtier spectrum of personality flaws. At the very least, they were fairly confident in their abilities; Atinir certainly was. The key difference between Atinir and them, however, was that he knew when to swallow what little pride he had left in order to save his own ass.

    They didn't.

    And in the off chance they did, well... It's not his fault that one of the dwarven bards from two missions ago had 'accidentally' tripped on one of Atinir's feet as they fled from a nest of beyond frightening, giant buzzing things. Things just worked out that way.

    "Yes," Yeeeesss! "No matter what comes next, we pool our resources. Er, well... Should it be just us three, or maybe we should go talk to big-and-grumpy back over there, too?" He threw a thumb in the direction of Zanigar.
  15. Rogan was chewing so it took him until after Atinir spoke for him to empty his mouth. "I thought he was just out to get us killed." he commented "But anyway teaming up will give him a run for him money, and may as well include grumpy, can always use him as bait."
  16. "Well, let's go talk to him," Atinir said cheerfully as he bounded across the room not totally unlike a cockroach would when scurrying about to get from one hiding place to another. He approached the library door and stared at the doorway before muttering the magical words, and it opened, revealing Zanigar doing whatever it was he was doing; Atinir wasn't really paying attention.

    "Hey! We just came up with a decent-enough plan. It involves not dying. Want to tell us your name so we can be sort-of chaps, and then we'll let you in on our plan?"
  17. Without looking up from the book he was reading, Zanigar replied, "My name is Zanigar d'Orien, of the main branch family of House Orien. I am an armored mage specializing in Transumation, though currently, my martial prowess far exceeds my arcane abilities. As for your plan, so long as I am included as one of those who won't be dying, I will hear you out. After all, my mission is far to important to my lord for me to die now." Reaching the end of the page he was reading, Zanigar turned the page and waited for a response from Atinir.
  18. That was a mouth full, thought Atinir as Zanigar turned the page in his book. He watched him for just a split-second longer before he realized, oh wait, it was his turn to say something.

    Better make it good.

    "Oh," was all he suddenly blurted it out. It was said in a rather chipper tone, however.

    "Well, I'm Atinir, and the fellow with the mask here is Aton, and the other fellow there is Rogan. We're all unanimous in that the old elf isn't trying to apprentice us so much as he is trying to kill us, so we figure, let's set aside our pride and work together from this point forth. Sort of like, a united front, of sorts!" He nodded satisfactorily; he was quite proud of that word combination.

    "We also figured, there was strength in numbers. And now we know you're something of a... well, you say yourself, you have some martial prowess, eh?! That means any beastie out there that likes to say hello in person will have to say hello to you first! If you catch my meaning, of course. But you won't be alone in all that effort!" Atinir rested his hand on the pommel of his rapier in a very exaggerated way.

    "I'm pretty good with a sword myself, if I do say so... Err, myself. So! What you readin' there? Hear anything about what the old codger might try to kill us with today? We're all certain there's going to be a today, too, in case we didn't tell you. Or you didn't feel that preemptive itch down the back of your armor."
  19. "You're a transmuter too?" Rogan blurted out, "Well than means we have a balanced transmuter force. I'm more focused on spells, though a have been known to get some mage armour going and I'm not exactly useless with a sword."

    He was beginning to feel better about this teaming up thing.