The Phantom Gate | IC Thread

Elle Joyner

Moop.
Original poster
FOLKLORE MEMBER
Posting Speed
  1. Multiple posts per day
Online Availability
8:00 AM - 4:00 PM
Writing Levels
  1. Prestige
Preferred Character Gender
  1. Male
  2. Primarily Prefer Female
Genres
Political intrigue, fantasy, futuristic, sci fi lite, superheroes, historical fiction, alternate universes. Smittings of romance, but only as side plot.
The Phantom Gate

Threads of moonlight pierced through darkened brambles, tendrils of fog curling upwards, dancing like willowisps along the forest floor. A man stood, his hand clutching a glowing lantern, face a frozen mask of invariance as gleaming eyes of deep green stared into the darkness. Two statues, their stone forms moss covered, rose up alongside a narrow peat path. The first was a male, tall and leanly carved, bearing hard, defined features, smooth stone wings arching upwards behind his towering form. The second, female, was curled into the extended arms of the male, gentle in appearance, elfin aspects ethereal and serene at first glance in the next moment cold and hawkish. Her own pair of wings, curtained about her shoulders reflected, through those pinpricks of nightlight the glitter of gemstones, iridescent as mercury. Oberon and Titania watched over the park in their infinite splendor, High King and Queen of the Seelie Court majestic visions of resplendent and calculating beauty. So few ever noticed the small faun, tucked between their legs, a mischievous grin playing across his handsome boyish face.

"If we shadows have offended,

Think but this, and all is mended:

That you have but slumbered here

While these visions did appear.

And this weak and idle theme,

No more yielding but a dream,

Gentles, do not reprehend."

His voice barely rose in timbre above a whisper, yet in deep baritone, the verses resonated from the man. Silence spoke next, before crunching gravel, he stepped forward.. Spines of light touched the statue faces, and for a moment one could almost sense life behind their gazes.

"If you pardon, we will mend…”

Grinding stone all at once shattered the night's stillness and the light of the lantern was eclipsed as a brilliant cerulean glow filled the woods. A razor thin split, like a tear in fabric spread from top to bottom, the statues now malleable clay, twisting, turning, curling away from their tender embrace like dancers. Revolving upwards and arching, the pair touched their fingertips together and the light bloomed. Between the figures, the incandescence swelled, the stranger’s arm raising to shield his gaze. Where once there were shaded woods in the still of night, a doorway now stood and gently creaking, it was drawn inward.

“Edmure Zane… Sly fox. Would darken our doorstep so boldly, with so high a price upon your neck?” The figure on the other side stood taller than the doorframe, crouched over in a deep bend that might, but for the look of disapproval on his face, have been mistaken for a bow. Ash white skin glistened, touched by flecks of silver, the same silver as his cat-like gaze and the great chunks of weed-like stems, which stuck up from his crown. Long, spindly fingers, each capped in dangerously sharp claws curved around the doorframe, and leaning closer, the fae’s pearly mouth split into a mischievous smile, “Mad, would it make them, indeed, to know we harbored you…”

“Wes, old friend, when all is said and done, I think you’ll find it was I who harbored you. I need to speak to the Court.”

Stepping aside, dragonfly wings fluttering, folding behind him, the fae gave an intentional bow, this time, and with a sweeping gesture, the fugitive Edmure Zane was welcomed.


~~<<§§>>~~

When one lived as long as Osgood Price, certain values, certain virtues became something of a second nature. Patience, it seemed, would require at least another millennium or so…

The desk clerk was a particularly stout, squat raisin of an old man, holding such a sour, puckerer expression that Ozzie couldn't help but wonder if he, at some point in his multitude of years, had been cursed to eternally taste lemons. One nobbled, gnarled hand gripped a stamp form and exercising all the effort of a sleep deprived sloth, he pressed it into deep burgundy ink, then showing no increase of urgency, flattened it onto one of the twenty forms Ozzie had handed over.

Eye twitching, the headmaster turned and looked to where he had left his gaggle of students, teeth grit into a tense, confident smile, his hand raised in a wave, "Almost there!"

Turning back, he bent over the indolent clerk, his fingers tensed, "Is there any possible way, my good man, that you could finish this up sometime this century?"

Without looking up, the clerk slowly shifted the top page to the side before his less than nimble fingers curved around the handle of the stamp, “You will get there when you get there. Please have a seat.”

Hands flattening over his face to muffle an irritated growl, Ozzie turned back to the entryway, “Right. Bureaucracy.” Arms dropping to his sides, he paused before his students, “It’s gonna be a minute.”

Some three hours later, the last of the papers was approved and the squat little figure behind the desk rose, walking stick in hand.

“Welcome,” He said, offering very little ceremony, “To the realm of Denmar.” Cracking his stick on the marble tile floor, there was a swish of wind, and a circle of light no bigger than a quarter rose above his balding head. Stepping back to the desk, he sat down as if the effort had taken what remained of his lax energy.

Swiftly, like paint pooling out of a can, the light began to grow, swelling in a spiraling fractal until it was wide as a doorway. With a flash, bright golden light became an image - stationary at first, then flowing, shifting. Conifer trees, great greens and silvers and blues rose in an arc of verdant against sterling stone, swept gently by the wind that drove the sharp, sweet smell of pine into the white-washed waiting room. Glittering in the midday light, a waterfall, slashed into the cragged side of the mountain, tripped and trickled down in a pool, as still as glass at its base. Across the portal face, a flock of white birds fluttered and the dark bow of a mighty oak branch stretched and yawned skyward. Within the mountain itself, a massive structure loomed, pale ivory towers and wide, arching bridges, glistening windows catching sunlight and silver-blue steepled roofs. The High Court of Wills seemed not to have been built, but to have grown straight out of the rocks of Mount Vastil, itself.

Along the side of the mountain, a scar of a path was carved, presently the route of three figures, a blonde woman in a gleaming white robe moved with purposeful strides towards the opened portal and at either side, two other dressed in identical armor, a deep ruddy leather with an emblem pressed into the chest piece in a forest green. At their sides we deeply curved blades, and slung at their backs, the rounded spine of longbows. It occurred, in that moment, to Ozzie that no doubt the sight was strangely out of the time period for the majority of his students and with a grin the conjurist turned to the small troup behind him.

“Now then… Shall we begin the tour?” And turning around again, he nodded to the portal, “Just take a breath and--” Trailing off, Osgood took a step forward and lifted his foot over the small gap between the floor and portal. With a shimmer his form rippled through the image of the mountain keep, as he appeared on the opposite side.


~~<<§§>>~~

“It was a last minute thing… We weren’t told they were coming until last night.” The whispered hush strained with frustration, as the woman drew her cloak around her, dipping deeper into the shadows of the darkened hall, “It won’t interfere with the plans, but I need time to think. If anyone were to find out…”

Within her palm sat a silver compact, its mirrored surface swirling with the image of another cloaked figure, a severe looking man with a deep frown, brows knit together in irritability.

“We cannot afford to fail now, Ailenna. An opportunity like this may not present itself again. Don’t let me down.”

“It will be done.” Closing the compact and slipping it into her robe, Ailenna looked up and down the hallway again before darting forward, disappearing through a doorway.


~~<<§§>>~~

“The Court of High Wills has been in existence for well over four-thousand years, now. Dating back to before the Great War of Realms. Within these hallowed halls, the first Sages sat and penned the Decree of the Seven, ensuring both the protection and proper preservation of the magical realms henceforth. You’ll notice here, these pillars - The art upon them depicts the events of the great war in stunning detail… perfectly representing the Sages’ part in sealing the Phantom Gate and driving back the forces of evil beyond its--”

“Curious…” The interruption was seamless, as Ozzie’s fingertips trailed along one of the columns. Each one, ten in total, ran from floor to ceiling, spiraling designs carved into the limestone, intricate details chronologically portrayed like hieroglyphics in an Egyptian tomb, “I don’t recall hearing of the Court’s involvement in the war. I remember well, the sealing.. I was a part of it, after all. But from what I remember, the Sages weren’t present. Something about… interfering in the events of fate and allowing actionable consequences to take shape?”

“...That’s…” The guide paused, her lips curved into a frown as her eyes danced from Osgood to the students surrounding him, “That’s hardly accurate… Well, it’s been some time, I’m sure you’re misremembering.”

“History can be fickle…” Ozzie noted, with a twist of sarcasm.

“Right, well. On that note.” Forcing a strained smile, the woman gestured to the room, “You’re free to look around. If you’ve any questions, I’m available. Mind the balconies, and do try to avoid touching the artifacts, thank you.” Her eyes flashed once more to Osgood, before spinning on her heels, she swished off to stand in the doorway, ever flanked by her guards.

Looking at the group, Ozzie smiled dryly, and for a moment the man seemed drained, thinned, as he shook his head, “My apologies. Not the tour I imagine you were anticipating. It would seem my… personal opinions of the Court are quite apparent, but I would hate to dissuade you from enjoying yourselves. Please. Look around… Just remember, eyes open, as always.”


~~<<§§>>~~

IC | You’ve been invited to tour the Main Hall in the Court of High Wills. Artwork, artifacts and historical documents line the magnificent space, and the architecture houses elements both fantastical and technologically superior to anything seen within the Plainspoken realm. For some of you, this is a place of great curiosity and majesty, for others, a sullen reminder of the past.

Osgood has left you to explore, and a tour guide stands at the ready for any and all questions.

OOC Note | This is the place for intro posts - feel free to get creative with the designs of the hall - and if you aren’t sure of something, go ahead and message me in the Discord. Feel free to interact with each other and/or any of the NPCs present And as always, have fun !

TAGS || @KatSea, @Verran, @littlekreen, @Ariel, @Dvyniai, @MiharuAya
 
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One so recently pulled back to reality from a place from out of time felt no particular abundance of it when first taken from what she saw as her home. Still unbodied, and unable to speak her displeasure, grabbed what she could in the scant moments dragged behind Osgood and threw it at his person. After being taken from the firehouse it became difficult to find a spot even a moment unobserved. That restrained violence sent a message rather than inflicting pain by many artful misses until out of view of plainspoken he made an offer to no-body that she couldn't refuse. It wasn't until later she could give her sullen word but she did stop throwing things at him in silent truce.

Her first instinct as she felt more than one person's eye on her was less her word than a fist pounded into a desk. Able to see her hand, able to feel anything, a body newly visible to herself included tingled as some limb left asleep. A reflection of some mirror on Osgood's person helped Castenea's person flee the axe's proximity by reflection. The humans really were creatures of ingenuity. A falsity on reality as more of a lie to itself she found she still could not leave a line of sight to him as a deeper dark crawled in from the places out of his potential view. Flotsam washed back up to his shores if she sank into it. A focused will could push back the roiling ink now to leverage the little lie on reality but remained a fist she couldn't clench forever. Now instead of one island in the black she had two with a hope for true freedom. She never apologized for throwing things at him, though she hadn't continued so to choose her battles, as she felt no particular guilt in the separation from her home. An acknowledgement of his boon as much as she also needed his service remained in faithful service as asked. Following hither and yon as he went about with new recruits for some purpose as not yet described.

~~~~​

The waystation to get to some new human locale didn't particularly interest her instead loomed at a doorway in transient sight of Osgood as others passing nearby sometimes raised their head in a jolt to evade her. Through the spells on Nature seemed content to notice her when convenient and leave it at that though she could tell forces were confused on the matter. A gnashing of teeth to determine the new order as Fae magic became feral left unattended but something of an altogether different domestication attended by her water sprites for so long. Like the wolves did to humans so long ago it acquiesced to their provisions to join an alien pack after care and feeding of stories of a very different nature. In the end neither it nor herself could shed their inner needs and hers was the return of warmth from a sun she couldn't see.

Her human illusion often had garb somewhat anachronistic for the era, she hadn't the occasion to physically change clothes for any duration, though long exposure fixated it on heavy firefighter boots, black slacks, and a dress shirt of some description. Often a tan overcoat or a hat was added. It was hard for her to know what her illusion looked like as she only saw herself in a mirror. In an era without synthetic cloth such was necessary for one that used natural substances to heal themselves though it was just as much a problem as a reflection that would drop them where she stood when darkness took her. Recomposition from nature would eat her own clothes of cotton or burlap and bone armor no direct part of her. So those particularly magically prescient enough to see through both the mirror and through her would spy a rather unclothed muscular Pixie. Thorns sprang from the green skin of her back and a carbonized right arm incessantly smouldered. The burn unable to go out or heal from the fires of exile, transformed as she was, but she'd grown inured to the pain which would stay until her body was less reflection and more reality.

A fist unclenched let the blackness pour over her as nature found a quiet spot on Osgood's shores to wash her up on. Sometimes she was under for several minutes until there was a place for her to be thrown ashore. In this case a flitting moment of inattention put her in the middle of the room. Likely a few attentive predator's eyes started focusing on her as guards or workers of one stripe or another suspicious at how long she'd been standing there. The feeling clenches her right hand that reflexively looked for an axe that was not there. Her mind may have been awake so long but her body's reflexes still remembered the war.

A deeper voice with halting pauses from long disuse Castenaea spoke as she eyed the stone and decorative embellishments on choke points, "A fortress can wear a fancy coat of other names if it likes."

~~~~​

The instant Osgood crossed the portal a wake of darkness shoved her to the darkened shore of a particularly uninteresting wall on the other side to meet him. It wasn't even a moment to find him as he would always be at the center of her island of reality. She met the students on the other side and followed with them without a word.

As the tour guide talked about the history relief of the phantom gate her hand started clenching again. A frown at the depiction of a river with humans forming a circle beset by demons. She'd moved along that river seeding sanctuaries in the will and stories of the willful fallen as she went. A grunt of agreement at Osgood's notion of fickle history broke her gaze to listen as he spoke. There were a few artifacts here she recognized though only one caught her eye and was close enough to inspect. Unsentimental creatures of war had few illusions about the utility of art.

A squirming face looked for description as much as an explanation to the display of ornate pottery then said aloud, "History washes away all otherness and decorates idiots. Why preserve a water bucket?"
 
Tobit nodded along in a manner that quite plainly declared for all who had a care to glance that he had absolutely no idea what was going on. A puffing pipe and He could have sworn that yesterday or yesteryear he was beginning his expedition into the Rocky Mountains to seek and find an academy hidden within its stout ranges. A possible conclusion to a set of trailing hints left behind by three separate cases and the nearly ceaseless prattle of hints purveyed by the resident Mettle Dettlespain.

Nearly ceaseless was truly the right about it as Tobit momentarily flicked his eyes inward to find the enigmatic entity entirely quiet. Although, his eyes truly didn't move at all. Staring with the same focus at a painting that he had looked at mere moments ago. Yet he had no other words to describe how it felt to shift his focus from whatever realm his body found itself in and into the mental-scape that represented some conjoining of his and Mettle Dettlespain's minds. And there the being was, a quiet mist at the edges of his mind. Shapeless. Yet not quite formless in will. It was not struck dumb by the majesty of Tobit's surroundings. No. It's silence was one of wishing not be seen. Undetected. Mettle could hardly conceal itself from Tobit. Hadn't been able to for the last century. Being in his body seemed to negate its chances of that. But Tobit didn't put it past Mettle-Dettle to be concealed from all outside eyes. Why though? Had something, for once, upset its designs? Or was this merely another game? Perhaps both or something else. Yet, with such wonders around and abound, the being could hardly hold Tobit's attention for long and he flicked his eyes outward again.

The painting he had stopped to look at as he flicked inward was one of dawn or dusk. A soft curve of beach with two people of in the distance dancing upon the shore. Detailed such that each and every grain of sand was visible. Yet, this couldn't be here. Or rather, if here was not longer properly Earth, than it couldn't be upon his home realm. The sky was a wash of reds and orange that blended into wavy lines of puree creme that was mixed with shocks of brightest white that where not clouds but seemed to shine from the painting as iridescent orbs that. The sand was not iron grey, black, or even the usual tan to white, but a shocking blue where the dark black sea that was entirely fresh and not oily seemed to lap merely against as the two figures danced off into the distance. Protected by a sheen of glace, Tobit found himself feeling that, if he just reached out, he could touch where-ever that painting was. With a snap, he pulled himself away from the call of magic and brought himself back to the present. Eyes refocusing intently upon the blonde woman in particular, but keeping each of his newfound companions in the corners of his eyes.

Tobit took the astonishing time to take out his pipe before asking in his traditional bluntness that, should he have ever earned a standing reputation for his lifespan, would have hallmarked his existence, "excuse me, but who in Heaven's starlight are you all?" Trampling along with the objection and questioning of art and history from one of his newfound fellows. For, while it was vaguely interesting to know that the academy had apparently sat around since before the times of the Roman Republic, there was not context to any of it. Was he a student? Of what? Why? Was this how they gathered a class and displayed them the halls? Without context, Tobit was utterly confused and, in such times of abject confusion, it was important to simply step back to the basics. Find out who. Find out what the who wanted. Find out why the who wanted it.
 
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Harlow shouldn't have said yes. She shouldn't have answered the door when Osgood came. How was she supposed to know it wasn't one of her regulars showing up to their lesson? It wasn't exactly professional to yell obscenities. She wouldn't have known. But her nieces wouldn't have forgiven her if she said no. If she saw Osgood's face and immediately slammed the door. If Harlow had opened the back door, thrust herself off the dock and plunged in the water to hide, her nieces would have dragged her by her gills back to the shore. A once in a life time experience, they said. A chance to learn, they said. A vacation to get away from the kids, they said. Bullshit. Full grown Melusines? They were going to drown multiple sailors...or invite other merfolk and she'd have to deal with great nieces and nephews...The idea made a thunderous shudder crash through her, rocking her to her very core. She couldn't go back now, though. It was far too late for that. She had done the bickering. She had pretended Osgood had the wrong person. She had protested and plead with her nieces.

But no. This will be good for you. If you can go there and learn you can help other people too. We'll haunt the lake while you're gonna auntie. Try not to kill anyone while you're gone~

Harlow swallowed. It would be okay. She could trust them. They could care for themselves. But then she would miss the lazy days with the sun reflecting its warmth on her skin. She'd miss the late night floats, feeling at home as the water lapped over her face. It wouldn't be forever. No. It wouldn't, and that was okay. She sucked in a breath between her teeth. She cupped one hand over her wrist to stall the jitters. Stepping through the barrier sealed her fate.

Scanning the icons and memories of ancient wars long past, Harlow squinted. She knew of such events. She had never laid eyes on them, born under calmer waters. But her sisters whispered of stories. Cruelties melusines before them had spoken of. Harlow didn't need to know what happened before her. Now was now and that was all that mattered to her. Decisions and sins committed by fools years past didn't concern her. And yet...the knot twisting in her gut at seeing them and putting together scenes and imagery was enough to ring alarm bells throughout her skull.

"If we touch them, will we melt into puddles?" She whispered under her breath, the glint of the Court's treasures enough to garner her attention. If she could she'd gather them without catching attention, she'd add them to her collection, proudly owning them and caring for them as if they were children. "Such a shame to make such beauties and keep them locked away, never to feel human touch. Would drive anyone mad." Her voice remained muddled, clutching her fists at either side. She wriggled her fingers. Her eyes darted to her fellow classmates. They appeared mostly human, well, magically influenced nonetheless. She smiled at the use of her own magic. She thoughts gills suited her much more, and that blue was a much better skin tone...not to mention the teeth. Real show stopper.
 

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Erin could have cared less about the history. None of this was new to him, he'd heard it before (not that he really remembered all the details, not that it mattered) and he didn't really even know why they were there. Sure, history, and the politics of their world were important, but couldn't they have discussed this in the classroom? They were adults after all. Not middle-schoolers who needed to be taken on a field trip in order to keep their attention. He heaved out a sigh, and tried not to check the time once more.

He wasn't sure what he was doing here in the first place, really. The only reason he had agreed to come with Price to his little academy was the chance to perhaps learn more about his daughter’s curse. After all, surely an ‘Academy for the Awoken’, might get him access to such knowledge about magic? That’s what he had hoped, at least. So far, all it had done for him was waste his time. And bore him to death.

Perhaps the only thing of interest to, out of everything from the past three and a half hours, was their headmaster. He watched Price with interest, as he corrected the guide, yet let it slide when she challenged him. Did that happen often to him? No one believing him about details of the past? It seemed like it, if his wan smile was anything to go by. Erin, of course, knew how long their people could live. Hell, he was fairly certain that Osgood was the same age as his own parents. But sometimes, when he really thought about it, that seemed like such a long time. Particularly when they walked among the plainspoken.

As the tour guide walked off ('Why does she need her own guards?' he couldn't help but wonder, briefly) he turned back to his phone. There was nothing, of course. He didn't even know why he checked it, it hadn't worked since they had entered the High Court of Wills, but, as his wife liked to tease, he was a bit addicted to the plainspoken invention.

Which Soyeon was just as addicted! She was normally the one he was texting. Her or his patients, which he had been doing more and more often, considering he had moved to America for the time being. Most of them he had referred to other doctors, but there were a few that had been okay meeting with him 'virtually'. They would have taken quite the hit financially if it was actually his career that they relied on. With the money they received from both their families, plus Soyeon's fashion line, they were doing just fine.

All the same, he wasn't a psychologist for the money. He didn't like having to give up his patients, but in this case, his daughter came first.

"If we touch them, will we melt into puddles?"

He was close enough to the other student to hear her comment, and he laughed a little. It was nice to know someone was just as unimpressed as he was with their tour guide. "At this point, I wouldn't mind becoming a puddle," he muttered back. She made another comment, but it was too quiet for him to catch, and he was too distracted by the question of one of the other students.

Who were they all? While none of them really knew each other all that well, it was a strange question, and an even stranger time, and way, or asking.

"Um," he mumbled, eyebrows drawing together. He wasn't sure if he should step in or not, since the guy seemed to be focused on someone else. But it was certainly more interesting to watch than looking at any of these dreadfully boring artifacts. "Is he allowed to be smoking in here?" he asked quietly, more to himself, if not the woman who had made the comment about puddles.

He had noticed the pipe before, and the longer he kept smoking, the more bewildered Erin became. It was the twenty-first century. He thought they weren't allowed to smoke indoors anymore. Maybe it was different in magical realms?​
 
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When the strange man came knocking on the door to Kiran's clinic in the middle of the night, he answered without hesitation. At the time, he was unaware of the rippling effects this small action would cause. In what felt like an instant, he was taken from his home and brought to a world, unlike anything he could ever imagine. It still remains to be seen whether his acceptance to attend this magical academy was a good idea.

While the delay at the gates were long, Kiran was perfectly content waiting for the clerk to finish stamping the needed documents. The entire time, he was satisfied by simply being able to observe the many visitors passing through the lobby. In the plainspoken realm, it was rare to ever see a being without illusions. But as his bright eyes gazed around the room, he spotted several beings he had only ever read about in books.

Kiran was brimming with questions, wanting to know more about the reason for this journey, or where they were even heading. However, he restrained himself. It seemed as though Osmond was preoccupied with the clerk, and while Kiran was certainly delighted with the prospect of learning more about the many magical realms, he was still apprehensive of the entire thing. It wasn't like him to simply follow a stranger with a few promises into the night. But if what the man says is true, it could be an opportunity to gain knowledge that Kiran could use in the future to help others. It was a risk, but one he was willing to take.

Once the portal finally opened, a wave of anxiety washed over him. It felt like this was his last chance to change his mind, to go back home to his safe and simple life. That, as soon as he entered the portal, he would be unable to reverse whatever happened next. The feeling was intense, and he again questioned whether this was a good choice. But, he refused to waver. With a deep breath, he stepped into the portal, accepting any fate that laid ahead.

As the group toured the Main Hall, Kiran was deeply engrossed in the history. While his eyes scanned the many art pieces and artifacts, he attentively listened to the guide. Although it was a large amount of information, much of which he was new to hearing, he was dedicated to remembering it all. The nerves that had gripped him at the start had begun to fade as he silently listened, his captivation causing his uneasiness to be momentarily forgotten.

When Osmond questioned the guide, Kiran’s head tilted with intrigue. The man seemed to know a lot about the Great War, even claiming to be a part of the sealing of the Phantom Gate. A fact that was highly impressive. Kiran had only just met Osmond, and he knew little of the man. So any clue to his identity was of great interest to him. After all, he had just agreed to travel realms and join the academy per his request, it would be nice to know something about him.

Once the tour had ended, Kiran took the chance to examine the pillars more closely. His blue orbs scanned them slowly up and down, taking in the incredible details. Whilst the group talked amongst themselves, the voices were a mere echo in the back of his mind. That is until he heard someone ask if smoking was allowed.

“Sorry for interrupting,” He spoke up, turning back to face the group. “You should really put that out, it's bad for you and everyone around you,” Kiran spoke gently, his tone alluding to it being a request rather than an order. As a doctor, he was always considering others well being and a part of that was advocating for certain things. Not smoking was a common one. “It could even damage the artifacts. It’d be a shame to lose a part of such important history like that.” A solemn expression washed over his face, pleading for the other to understand.
 
The Council Chamber

A sharp bark of laughter expelled suddenly from somewhere in the quiet hall and slapping his hands together, Osgood stepped around a pillar towards the cluster of students, "Good Lord, that has to be the funniest thing I've heard in decades." Despite the postured humor, there was a caustic bite to the words, not judgment, per say, but a weariness, like a parent's disappointment in a naughty child, "We are standing in a room dictating history half a millennia past, albeit falsely represented, in another realm, coursing with magic and mystery that you entered by stepping through an enchanted portal created by a nine-hundred year old Archivist... and you're concerned about a man and his pipe. You ought to have seen this place eighty years ago, before they put in smoke detectors. Time… such a novelty."

Raking fine fingers through his hair, Ozzie stepped closer to the group, "Do you know why I brought you all here? Before orientation… even before introductions?" His tone softened, "Because, my friends, you are about to enter into a world that billions around you will never know exists. You are touching untapped destiny. And even here, in these Halls built on fragile lies of egotistical fools, you are so out of your league. I want to help you. All of you. I want to train you to utilize those gifts, tucked away inside of you, but first you must understand. Everything you know about the world is about to change. Profoundly."

With a deep sigh, his hands lowered to his sides, "We are entering a very dangerous time and I am not sure there will be adequate time to prepare you for what may come. The truth of the matter is, this is not the only realm… far from it. There is another, some of you may know it. The Phantom Realm. And we are on the cusp of a terrible misfortune." Moving to one of the columns, Ozzie reached out to touch the depiction of a dark circular object, ringed in deep violet. The object in the drawing was surrounded by a league of figures, terrible, misshapen figures, "I was there, all those years ago, the first time the gate was opened, and when I say that it haunts me still, to this day, I pray that will lend you some degree of comprehension, just what we are up against. The Gate is failing, it will fail, there is no doubt, and when it does, the Plainspoken realm will be met with nightmares beyond the human capabilities to understand, let alone defeat. I have gathered you lot together because, well… not to be trite about it but, you are humanity's only hope. And we have a long way to go before you're ready…"

Footsteps sounded and the blonde guide returned from her place by the doorway, smiling in that superficial way a guide might, "If you would all please follow me, we will continue on to the Council chambers."

Through the Hall's towering arched doorways, the group was led down a lengthy corridor, alabaster white walls bare, but for a wall sconce roughly every ten feet for so. Within the wrought iron sconces was a deep cerulean glow, an orb, which seemed almost to float, suspended in air. The floor was a white marble, cracked and lined with charcoal grey streaks, the ceiling disappearing into shadows above. Eventually the hallway ended in another arch, through which could be seen a massive fountain at the center of a sprawling garden of rich green planets and jewel toned flowers. Pale blue and purple ceramic tile created the basin of the fountain and clear sparkling water splashed and sputtered into the pool from a winged statue, curved into itself, ivory feathers spooled around its face and neck. The room was perfumed by the sensual, rich scent of jasmine and the piney, sweet aroma of lavender. Windows lined the cylindrical courtyard chamber, stained glass of jade and violet leaving spotlights of colorful streams throughout the room. Beneath each window sat a platform and upon these a silver basin, containing more of the cerulean orbs. From the courtyard, the guide turned right and down another lengthy corridor. At the end of this one sat a large wooden door, pine in color, contrasted by deep veins of spruce. Silver rings served as both knocker and handle and clutching one, one of the guide's sentries struck it against the wood. After a moment, with a low groan, the door opened.

This next chamber was enormous in size, as round as the courtyard had been, but easily three times the height. From the dark void of the ceiling were suspended several ring-like structures, bronze in color, with archaic runes etched along their rims. While some hung horizontally like chandeliers, others were held aloft at a diagonal or vertically, within other rings. The room had no windows, but light instead poured in from above, its source located somewhere in the imposing ceiling. The floor of the room was onyx, and deep carvings ran its length, spiral shapes that met in the center where there was a slightly raised dais, opposite a tall, broad structure, rectangular in shape. Around the outer edge of the room, seating ramped upwards, curved like an amphitheater. Here, near the dais, the guide paused, flanked on either side by her sentries.

"Welcome to the Council Chambers. It is here that the High Court of Wills holds their most important sessions. Here, where the safety and security of the realms are determined by our fair and noble council mem--"

A scoff sounded, and Osgood shook his head as the blond woman twisted towards his interruption, "Fair and noble, hmm?"

"Now really… This is--"

"It's quite alright, Iridian. Master Price is well within his rights to question the council's judgment." The voice came from another door leading into the chamber, a smaller wooden door, set just to the side of the rectangular platform, "We are of us fallible, to some degree."

The woman was tall and lean, pale from head to toe in pristine white robes, silver hair cropped short and unadorned as the rest of her. Her eyes were a light, clear blue, the sort of gaze that had a tendency to pierce, driving deeply through each of his students before pausing on the headmaster, "I'm surprised you would come at all, Osgood."

"History has a way of repeating itself, when one tries too hard to ignore the unpleasant aspects of it's course. I cannot teach my flock how to respect magic if I do not first explain why such a thing is so valued, and the greatest way to ensure that is understood is to show them exactly what the abuse of magical power looks like."

"You wound me, old friend." The woman smiled delicately, but in her eyes was a guarded look, that oddly brought to mind a bird of prey, "There was a time when you respected the Council."

"There was a time when the Council respected those beneath them."

With a tight lipped laugh, the woman shook her head, "You of all people should know that sometimes things are not what they appear to be. I do wish you would have accepted our invitation…"

"And you of all people, Miran, should know that such an invitation was a waste of the parchment it was printed on."

"Yes. I see that now. So you've done it, then? Reopened the Academy?" Once again, her calculating gaze drifting among the others present, "Curious batch. I wasn't aware you were taking on Fae. And of course you would encourage the Awakened. Very like you…"

"I've my reasons. Though I trust I needn't remind you." There was a twinge of aggression in the words, and the woman's brow quirked in what might have been surprise.

"You continue to undermine our authority, Osgood, and we may need to adjust the terms of our deal."

"I won't undermine your authority when you stop insulting my intelligence. You know as well as I do that Awakened are more than capable.”

“It isn’t their capabilities that are in question. It’s whether or not those capabilities should exist at all... But that’s neither here, nor there.” Turning to the others, she forced a smile that seemed to test the very limits of her personal nature, “Please. Enjoy your tour. I imagine it will be quite enlightening… And Ozzie, dear. Do try not to upset our guide too terribly, would you?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Miran.” With a light bow, Ozzie watched as the woman disappeared through the door again.

“As I was saying…” The guide continued, balanced on the edge of irritability, “This is the very room within which the decree was first signed, and it was here that the infamous Trial of the Ten took place, and Elvarian Tarasque was sentenced to Irresolution on the Isle of Vers for improper use of Dream Walking. The very first resident of the prison, and, if I’m not mistaken, still within residence to this day. Oh… what’s this?”

The sound was strange. A foreign sort of sound one wouldn’t naturally expect to hear on the average day… metal footfall, in timed march, clanging steps echoing down the long corridor behind them. Turning, brow lifting, Ozzie looked back to Iridian, “Part of the tour?”

“Not remotely, no…” Her voice wasn’t fearful, but still twinged with that aggravated sense of being put out, and stepping forward, her hands cupped her hips with an attitude of building fury, “I have had just about enough of these interrup--”

A thunderous blast rocked the chamber and with a flash of glaring flames, the door burst inward, the two guards on the other side flung backwards, landing still. Osgood’s expression shifted from shock to estimation, and stepping forward, he held out a hand to usher the others behind him.

The sound of metal grew into a cacophonous roar, as through the gaping doorway several figures appeared - at first glance, knights of old, outfitted in glinting suits of steel. Lining the room in a semicircle, they stood as still as stone, part at the center for another entrant. She appeared to be dressed in a similar robe to their guide, a woman of little note, small and mousy, with light brown hair and eyes of steely blue. Pausing, her mouth formed a small, pleasant smile.

“Please don’t be alarmed. Our fight is not with you. But we will need you to move, Osgood…”

“Just what is the meaning of--” The blade flew with barely a flick of the intruder's wrist, and with a shocking plume of red bursting on white, Iridian’s hands clutched her midsection, where it had made purchase beneath her ribs. Dropping to her knees, the guide gasped, her sentries recovering only long enough to find a dagger a piece, buried in their sternums.

Swearing softly, Osgood bent to stabilize Iridian, who, paling, had begun to sink back to the floor, his gaze narrowing to the woman at the door, “A-Ailenna? What is this??"

"...A reckoning, Ozzie. Retribution, long overdue. Don't interfere… please."

“Edmure?” The word was nearly whispered, and at the woman’s nod, Osgood grimaced, “Damn it… Damn him! You can’t do this! Not this way!”

“I won’t say it again, Ozzie. You and your students are safe… but only if you do not interfere.”

Looking behind him, Osgood’s expression hardened, and shifting, he gently laid Iridian onto the floor, rising to his feet, "I warned him what would happen, should this be the path he chooses. I cannot follow him down this road. You know I can't."

"I'm sorry to hear that, old friend."

Nearly simultaneously, as another blade arched through the air towards the headmaster, Ozzie muttered under his breath and with a flash, a spectral blade appeared in his grasp, swatting the dagger aside.

"Find cover! But do not let them through that door!" As he called out, the armored knights began to clatter forward and with a cry of fury the woman, Ailenna bolted towards Osgood, drawing a long, thin sword from a sheath at her spine.

~~<<§§>>~~

]IC | During the tour, following a rather uncomfortable encounter with one of the Council members, you're suddenly set upon by a throng of armored knights and their particularly vicious leader, a woman called Ailenna. After dispatching four guards and wounding the young guide, Iridian, the woman calls for Osgood to step aside, but seemingly recognizing the intruder, Osgood stands his ground, ordering the students to find a hiding place or protect the door to the council member's office.

OOC Note | Do not feel sewed in to hiding - there are many options to pursue and you are welcome to do what feels natural to your character. If you'd like to engage any of the knights, please DM me so that I can offer you some information regarding them. You may solo post or collab , either with another player or me! As always, if you have questions, feel free to ask.

Side note || At @Ariel, I know you were working on an intro post - please don't hesitate to utilize it still as an opener to whatever your response is to this GM post!

TAGS || @KatSea, @Verran, @littlekreen, @Ariel, @Dvyniai, @MiharuAya
 
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As she heard the commotion Castanea turned a cold gaze to sigh and walk over by steps halting and unsteady. Though she hadn't a full body yet it heard the call of life close enough in this imitation that she had to focus on using her own clay with any grace. The smell of the tobacco crawled its way up her nose though it offended her nose far less than much of the modern things her water sprites smoked. Amber eyes stared back at Tobit through the smoke with a darting gaze and a squirming brow as the color shifted not only because of the periodic haze. Her hackles kept going up randomly ever since Osgood partly embodied her. Periodic fuzzed numbness of her senses tripping for the infernal like a leg too long sat on so was somewhat unsure if there was ever anything to look at. The others had questions and she an answer or two by a dart of the eye but pressed her lips inclined to keep to her own counsel in these quarters.

She answered Tobit in a patently fae non-answer of what to utter for her attention rather than her actual name, "If you need my attention, just use Straif."

Harlow's quiet mumbling broke the steel legged stare with a wobble from one foot to another and a reposition of her footing. A faint smile at the odd way the woman carried herself said something a bit different than human. At least they didn't set off her prickling thumbs. Though couldn't quite hear what they were going on about. Castenaea hadn't seen a place like this in many years but the wonder was something she'd left behind. Either too many or not enough for this looming shadow of the field of battle she'd sacrificed her axe to in a peacebond to go home. The memory of later betrayal sent a sour frown to where the tour guide had gone off to and doused her curiosity. The other two seemed human enough and certainly carried human suspicion with them.

Castanaea set her jaw and pointed at the pipe, "If mages could die of cancer you couldn't live as long as you do in the first place. I'd be surprised if the council cared at all who or what you burn if the doing suits their strictures and doesn't set the drapes alight."

As Osgood came to expound on some of what he'd bargained her, and touched the relief of that gate, she grumbled, "Ankle deep in an again-rotting sewer is profound to old wounds too."

Quick to follow Osgood down the halls much of the ceiling was beyond the edge of the ink-black around the island of mind she stood upon. Still she looked at the sconces with curiosity at their light but frowned that it was cold. The worked earth of this place felt like dead old bones healed over through magic. At least the scent of the one chamber had plants in it though she had barely enough time to crouch and run her hand and fingers across the silken flowers before she had to keep up lest the island leave her behind. The council chambers was even taller and she could not see anything of the ceiling at all. The floor was too much like the dark for her liking so by tiptoe across the floor but the faint warmth on her head said some powerful light source was above.

The one-sided conversation was odd as the wide-open hall left Castanaea with an inability to see who was talking or really hear where the noise was coming from. She settled on just looking in the general direction Osgood was looking. A mirthless sardonic smile of laughing eyes as barbs were traded more content that Osgood and the council were frenemies at least. The smile faded as the guide's talking seemed to say this Mirian left the room. Attending the guide's prattling on about some demon or their consort sealed behind a prison since she'd not heard of anything past her exile. It was the noise that got her attention more directly as she stayed closer to Osgood and he brought it up.

Then a noise, the rush of heated air and a sudden flash of light and fury echoing from where the door likely once stood. The field of battle it seems claims another fine battle plan of recovery. Metal boots. Armor? Several sets. It seemed tactics had hardly changed in between her exile. She stood behind Osgood, but only just, keen to keep him from injury lest she be confined once more. One of a rightful army made its formal declaration of war on the council? Castanaea would leave the soldiers to their devices unless asked and then only just. Such was her peacebond sacrifice at the end of the war. There were lines that should and must not be crossed. That is until she saw a silver blade emerge from the tattered edge of the dark and sliced apart their tour guide. She could not and would not act for the council.

Then a pricking of the chest came for Osgood. Castanaea had to stay near him she couldn't meet the other armored knights but no thing against a peacebond healer was done lightly. Thus a threat by proxy against the anchor of her bodily existence rippled the earth's magical tides as a peacebond was broken. The fae had rules or woe betides. Will pulled hard on her axe of the Dagda wherever it lie to motivate the well-etched edge to come to her. An unsubtle creature by nature her blood gone up muffled the tiny wonder if someone wanted her axe to burn once more.

She couldn't see the woman but growled at whatever creature had done the deed, "By Neiman be curst! Peacebond sacrifice is spurned. Your name in the guts of bean nighe."

Blackthorn grown and wrapped around the thrice bound spine of a demon, human, and Fae as its haft and a blade from the deepest bones of the earth. A weapon to grow with her wherever the willow cudgel should go and a thing stupendously illegal now to create she wagered. Wherever her axe had found itself far from Fae lands after the war, in its strange aggressive insistence on remaining a magical void, would end its embargo against enchantment to alight once more with furious remembrance of fell names she'd destroyed. Her fists balled and her will hardened the presence of her body in a taut coil of anger. Old muscles stretched for the first time in centuries thirst for the boiling blood of war.
 
Medb had walked along quietly with the group, keeping her counsel as they were shown around the pile. It was all quite impressive, especially for a young Irish woman from a not particularly large town, even if Armagh could hold itself proud when it came to history and occult significance.

But when Iridian got hurt, now - that wasn't something she was about to keep quiet about. Just a guide she may have been, but she'd welcomed them to the halls, shown them hospitality. That meant Medb was her guest, and a guest doesn't just hide herself when her host is in trouble.

So it was that a little blue-haired slip of a thing suddenly called out in a voice that rang from the rafters like the bells of Saint Patrick's.

"Woe to thee
Who breach guest-right with violence
Who answers peace with sword-light

Woe indeed
Come face the spear of the sun
Come face the daughter of man

Woe and blood
For now Gáe Buidhe is loosèd
For to feast upon your flesh
"

As Medb half-spoke, half-sang the words, a golden spear shimmered into view, clutched in a small strong fist, burning with a piercing inner light. There was no hesitation, no half-measure, as she cocked her hand back and hurled the gleaming weapon towards the woman named Ailenna.
 
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Tobit raised a singular eyebrow at the stream of outbursts to his smoking. Really now. Didn’t they comprehend that there were far more interesting things going on around them? Well, at least it provoked an interesting reaction, he thought as he stuck the pipe back between his teeth. There was certainly the question as to if the people around him were actually older than himself. If so, how strange. If not, how understandable. He also filed away the moniker of ‘Straif.’ Though, whether that was the being’s real name or not was certainly in question. Mettle Dettlespain had always placed great importance upon names.

Osgood’s words washed as oddly familiar across his mind. Picking out the failing gate and the dangers of the deep past made him draw up distant memories of tales with Mettle…yet they seemed rather distant. Which was rather accurate considering Tobit’s age. Yet the fact that he couldn’t recall such details with clarity troubled him for a moment before it washed from him.

Following along, he absorbed all that he could from the various conversations and borderline aggressive banter. During it, Mettle Dettlespain stirred suddenly at the quip against Awakened. Tobit smiled through his pipe. The entity had always been plain about his support of all plainspoken on up in all regards. Good, bad, blessed, curse, there was an endless stream of support that came from the entity for them.

Then the knives flashed out. Turning what had become a tense situation into utter violence in milliseconds.

Tobit’s instincts and habits certainly agreed with Osgood’s good recommendation in seeking cover. Calling upon the intoxication of magic that was more potent than any pipe or drink, he drew two drops of water from the fountain. Then dove into the seating. Plated boots rang as the “knights” charged across the chamber. Leaving Tobit to spread out his two drops of water into perfect circles. One right next to him, the other upon the floor in front of the stampede.

Ducking forward fully out of sight, Tobit pulled out two tools invaluable to his investigations: his Glock and a handheld mirror. He aimed the former directly at the plate of water perpendicular to the pistol. Angling the latter, he kept an eye on the other plate of water. In three, two, one Tobit unleashed a surge of magic, connecting the two. A gateway. With precision, he fired. The Glock roaring with a life of its own. Making his unprotected ears ring. Knights didn’t go down. They didn’t even bleed. Yet he knew, for certain, that the shots penetrated. Sending them into staggering clanks. Tobit catalogued the information for later. Details for the whole to be examined over another good pipe.

However, he couldn’t keep track of them all and, with a sudden shock, Tobit felt his looking glass spell shatter. One must have stepped upon the pool. Another gestured towards him. Joy. Five were storming his way. Tobit almost considered shifting to the edge of cover to open fire directly, but reconsidered. Modestly ineffective were the right words for how well his guns worked. It was time for something a bit bigger.

Drawing more water from the fountain and whipping it to lie parallel to where he lay, Tobit formed another flat surface. Prepping the glass. That was the trivial part. Peering with the mirror, Tobit focused on the last of the knights in the charging squad and Summoned. Not the soldier. Not their full suit of armor, as he needed yet more focus to complete his plan, but the fellow’s boots. He hoped the spell wouldn’t simply teleport them. Mettle hadn’t been exactly clear on the specifics of that spell when he had first explained it. Nor could Tobit recall if it even worked the same way each time.
 
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Harlow was far out of her element. A fish out of water would have been too far on the nose, and she cursed herself for not being a more practiced menace on the surface. Joining Osgood was a bad idea, can't wait to rub it into my babies faces when I come back missing an eye and with my hair freshly clawed out. Hey aunt Har! How did your first day go? You died? Wow, can't wait to hear that story through the Ouija board. Despite her scrambled thoughts, Harlow's breath was even. A smile remained grace on her face as the others pulled weapons from thin air and flaunted them with a flourish. She was in for a show. Politics and magic never went well together, and if this was an attempt on her life and the lives around her? Oh, she was gonna taste blood today, she just knew it. But for now? Her head swiveled, noting the man with the pipe backing away. Good boy. Take it from a distance. If only I could flood this room, I could rip off their appendages from below....guess we'll go with Plan B. The fountain.

She ducked away from the action, finding a corner to tuck herself neatly away in. She swiped her tongue across her teeth, confirming the sharp points that now formed. She couldn't go full gills. Not unless she wanted to swim laps in the fountain and then pounce. As funny as the mental image was in her head, she knew it was a no go. Her better option would be to accumulate as much water as possible. There were a few ways she could utilize the resource. If she really wanted she could have forced a sphere around the woman's head and let her drown. Then again, Harlow didn't really like the choking noises that were made with that, and wasn't really in the mood to watch someone's life twitch from their body.

Harlow raised her hand in the direction of the fountain, forming a thin stream of water and beckoning it towards her. The droplets curled around her fingers, frosting over skin in an attempt to create armor. The remaining stream of water molded into a thin, frosted sword in her hand. It wasn't dense in any sense of the word, but that wasn't what Harlow wanted. She needed it to be light, easily moved in her hand. Breaking apart is what she wanted. If multiple shards could hit the target, she'd have a greater volume of damage. She stuck close to her hiding place, watching the frost continuing to accumulate up her arm. Scales flickered beneath her armor,, tints of blue and green shimmering beneath the surface. Her publics elongated and widened, the yellow hue creeping into the white of her eyes. Her teeth poked past her lips now, the sharpness enough to pierce her skin.

She curled her fingers underneath the sheets of ice. Mobile. Perfect. Now she waited. Waited for footsteps. Waited for some poor bastard to step too close. Then she'd strike. Excitement bubbled in her chest, but she kept herself steady. Patience. Waiting for the opening would ensure her success.
 
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The sudden burst of laughter startled Kiran, the doctor turning to give Osgood a curious look. As Osgood spoke, his tone seemed to chastise them for their small-minded concerns. Although all that the man said was true, Kiran was still struggling to adjust to being so suddenly thrust into this new world. And, with each passing minute, it seemed that things grew more complicated.

As Osgood began to explain the reason he had brought them all together. It became apparent that his offer to join his academy to learn wasn't the whole story. Instead, it seems that they were meant to save the world? His words were difficult to comprehend and left Kiran’s head swirling with questions.

When the guide returned, the tour abruptly resumed. As much as Kiran tried to pay attention to what the woman was saying, his mind still lingered on Osgoods words. As Kiran’s feet moved on their own, he absentmindedly followed the others as they were escorted to the Council Chambers.

Just as the guide had started her spiel again, Osgood interrupted. The animosity that Osgood felt towards the Council was palpable. It was just another thing that it seemed the group was unaware of. Though, it was made obvious as Osgood bickered with Miran, who Kiran could only assume worked for the Council.

It seemed as though just as when the tour recommenced, it was interrupted by a strange sound.

When the door burst open to reveal a small fraction of armored knights who quickly surrounded them, it was a puzzling turn of events. As a strange woman stepped forward, it seemed that Osgood recognized her. Kiran could only vaguely follow along as the two spoke as it appeared there was more happening than they were aware.

The sight of a blade being thrust into the guide caused Kiran to gasp, his body tensing as he watched on in horror. As the woman crumpled to the floor, the blond ran to her side. “I got her,” He said to Osgood, taking Iridian’s paling form from Osgood’s arms and laying her onto the floor.

“You're going to be okay,” Kiran spoke in a soothing voice, despite his inner panic. “Just focus on me and your breathing, alright?”

As he lifted the woman's shirt to reveal the wound to her abdomen, blood continued to gush from her body. The injury was deep, hitting multiple organs and major arteries. It was far too severe to move her in her current condition. Even if he worked quickly, he was unsure what her chances of survival would be. Still, he wasn't going to give up before trying.

While a fight broke out around them, all Kiran could do was ignore the distraction and hope that they stayed out of the crossfire. Kiran placed his hands over the wound, whispering an incantation. A glowing life began to emit from his hands as the bleeding stopped and the puncture started to close.
 
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The Phantom Gate

Illusory blade singing through open space, Ozzy met Ailenna with the clashing resonance of steel on steel and for a brief time that revolved like an ancient, endless story, they danced beneath the suspended circles of bronze. Wildly, Ailenna bashed her weapon against Osgood’s and with each fearsome blow, he parried, guarded, shielded, but never once did an offensive gesture enter his repertoire. So calm and counted were his steps, one might assume there was something rehearsed about their battle, yet his counterpart’s assault raged with a fury none could hope in good theater to mimic.

Some way to their left, pipe still half pinched between his teeth, almost in absence, and not far from him, fleeing to her element both Tobit and Harlow made for the courtyard that had led them into the council chamber. There the fountain gurgled and sputtered, oblivious to any dangers facing the Court, as unaware of its useful qualities as the pair utilizing them. In as frenzied a dance as the headmaster and his foe, water became both gateway and weapon. With an ear shattering bellow, the gun, however unsophisticated it might be, made quick work of Ailenna’s guards… One. Two. Three. Clattering, clanking, a cacophonous sound of armor meeting marble tile, but with as little circumstance as marionettes without hands to guide them. Then another fell, as the first spell was shattered by the uncivilized madness, a forth knight dragged this time with invisible strands by their bootstraps, set in motion through a second spell, sucked forward like water through a straw, pulled into the gaping gate and vanishing to whatever met them on the other side.

But the clanging continued… louder, faster, and the young mage could do little more than glance up in time to see not one but two more ironclad puppets, their weapons raised, poised, striking down towards his unprotected skull. The sound that followed, however, was not the horrific death rattle, or metal cleaving viscera, but the shriek of iron as it was pierced by razor sharp shards of ice, sending two more knight-shells to the ground.

In the chaos around them, a voice rang out in, a heavy-lilted hymn that echoed eerily through the chamber. From its peal, a golden spear chased light and sound, ending in a sudden, truncated gasp, deepening at the throat, where it found its purchase in the chest of the robed woman. Stumbling, staggering back, Ailenna blinked in rapid succession, her sword clanging to the ground as her fingers fumbled around the space where sharp incandescence left a gaping maw of red. While elsewhere in the room, the remaining knights crumpled to the ground, swiftly, Osgood darted towards Ailenna and deft hands swung out to catch her as her legs buckled. Easing her down, his features a mask of calm concentration, he met her frantic gaze.

“...Shh.” Her hands left the wound, scrambling for him and Osgood’s expression cracked, only briefly, dismayed by the gesture as he curled his grip around her crimson coated fingers, “Shh, it’s okay. It’s alright…”

“I’m sorry. I-I’m sorry. I never wanted… W-we never wanted this. Look, Ozzie. Look… see what… s-see what they make you give? See what they’ve made us into? You… you of all people s-should know… should know…” With a cough, red bubbled from her lips, and her other hand squeezed his, “They must be s-stopped. It has to end. It h-has to…”

As the words trailed into breathless silence, and fiery eyes turned to cold empty steel, Osgood’s breath came in tight, seething inhales, exhales, eyes burning, whites misty and red as they flickered up into the void overhead, “It will, Lenna. I promise. But not like this…” And falling again, back to the lifeless woman in his hold, he shook his head, “...Not like this, my old friend.”

Lowering her to the floor, Ozzie stood, slowly, his eyes shifting, moving around the room, shifting from student to student, before with an abrupt glare, narrowing at the doorway by the council chamber that had opened again, the white-robed figure stepping out.

“It didn’t have to be this way, Osg--”

“Don’t!” He roared, voice echoing dangerously through the chamber. His fists, balled at his sides, opened as he gestured to the fallen woman, to the slain guards and the gravely injured guide, “This is on your hands! Don’t you dare tell me this was preventable as though you have no fault in it! I told you what would happen when this began! I warned you what you would drive him to… and now it’s come… You won’t stop him this time, Miran. He got inside your own ranks. You won’t stop him. You can’t!”

“We might not.” Taking a few steps forward, she bent down beside the wounded guide, her fingers gently pushing back the hair on the girl’s pale forehead, inspecting her as one might inspect fruit at the market. Almost casually, she looked up to the man whose healing ministrations had probably kept Iridian alive and softly, barely even audibly, she scoffed. Iridian, whose eyes fluttered open reached to grasp Kiran's arm. After a moment, Miran stood again, gaze meeting Osgood’s, “But you will. Because that’s what you do, Osgood. You set it right. And that is why we allow you to continue to defy the council and its decrees… You always set it right. And you will this time, too.”

“...And if I don’t?" He half growled.

Smiling faintly, an expression that drove a look of disgust across the headmaster’s face, Miran shrugged, “We have our ways of motivating you. It’s probably best for you and your students to head home now. The Guardians have woken, to sort out this mess. And you know how they can be about… well…” With a glance to the students, she nodded.

“This isn’t over.” Osgood continued, darkly, a finger pointing, warning, “More will come.”

“I think, my dear, you have other more pressing things to worry about. So sorry about the tour. Good luck.” And without another word, she bent down again, to tend to Iridian.

Looking away with a sharp note of revulsion, Osgood turned to the others, “Let’s go.”

~~<<§§>>~~

The modicum of patience Osgood had shown in the Interim Room prior to their arrival in the council's realm was gone by their return. Through every rudimentary question, every redundant formality, his frustrations were worn like a badge until finally culminating in him shouting at the diminutive agent that he would make his own damn portals next time. When they finally arrived from the antechamber back into the lobby of the Academy, he'd had abandoned all pretense of dwindling strength and with a chest-deep inhalation, he turned to the others with a glint of steel in his gaze.

"In all my years as headmaster of this academy, I have never been more proud of the ilk of my student body. You behaved marvelously, and I am grateful for your efforts. I won't insult you by suggesting this was anything but an absolute unmitigated disaster, and I cannot imagine that you'll rest easy knowing how unexpected this was. I don't doubt you have questions, and I will do my best to answer what I can as soon as possible. In the meantime, though, I need to meet with the other instructors about what's happened. If you could, please adjourn to the common room… I'll have food brought in, and meet with you shortly."

With a muttered incantation, three spectral images appeared, the figures featureless and ethereal blue. Ozzie looked at them, his gaze weary with fatigue, "Please take them to the north lounge. And see about a proper meal. I'll need the instructors assembled in my chambers… tell them it's urgent."

Wordlessly, the figures split off in three directions. Two disappeared through the westernmost lobby doors, the final figure gesturing to the students, before heading northward. They were led along the corridor, pale blue walls bathed in sconce light that hung suspended in thin air over several odd portraits; faces of former instructors, captured in odd caricatures, gold plates indicating their position and names. A carpet ran the length of the hall, ruby and navy and jewel-tone greens in elegant scrawl, the white plaster ceiling arched, embraced by ivy that seemed to grow without origin. Eventually, the hall ended in a bright red door, which opened of its own accord. On the other side was a round room, filled with comfortable furnishing; couches, chaises and ottomans were scattered across fur skinned rugs, large lanterns hanging suspended from the dome ceiling by chains. A massive fireplace crackled along one wall, alight with a blazing fire. Above the mantle hung a tapestry, threads of maroon, gold and orange, white, grey and purple portraying a battle between a mage and dragon. So pronounced were the details, one might swear the images moved, though only ever from the corner of one's eye. The room was scented by warm spices and cedar, the orange glow of firelight soothing, comforting. It wasn't long before a second door to the back of the room opened and several more spectral forms appeared, bearing huge trays, piled high with sandwiches, pastries and an extravagant collection of fruits. The trays were laid out on tables throughout the room and the spectral figures left the way they had come, closing the doors behind them and leaving Osgood's students alone.

IC | As swiftly as it began, the battle in the council chambers ended, leaving you with far more questions than answers. Arriving back at the academy, you were left to wait for Osgood in the common room, while he meets with the other instructors.

OOC Note | Feel free to converse amongst each other and/or explore the common room. Lunch has been left for your characters, and the atmosphere of the room seems intentionally geared towards comfort.

TAGS || @KatSea, @Verran, @littlekreen, @Ariel, @Dvyniai, @MiharuAya
 
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She felt the curse stir as it left her lips and crawl its way out of the dark from the slumber of an age as the two knights approached. Lacking a weapon she could bring with her, or anything really, Castanea could only threaten one into position. The empty iron husk of iron gleefully strode through a pale understanding of the flow of battle into the position she'd preferred. The others to her side mustering spells could have a clearer shot on both of the golems. The other was skilled with a blade and she circled the able clatters of deft warriors until the glow of a spear shot out through the woman's back. Castanea met Osgood on the other side to dislodge the weapon in hand from harm's way with the battle's focus broken. Though she couldn't keep the sword so left it to clatter to the ground.

Osgood said his goodbyes to the woman and with a breathy rumbling sigh sensed the duty and remorse to her words. The council was definitely not to be trusted and something was deeply wrong not that she hadn't suspected it already of them. Castanea tried not to invade their privacy but stood in watchful outlook head darting to and fro. A whisper born of wartime paranoia said that the golems failed didn't mean there weren't more enemies. As Osgood turned away from the woman Castanea knelt by them calmed from paranoia well-lived as she remembered the others there. Allies. Or at least allies enough to satisfy. A frown fought against a concerned brow as a gaze a thousand yards behind Kiran aimed in his direction and shook her head.

Whether the others were there with her or not she looked in the stony dead gaze, with the barest glance to see the other argument, a fixed fascination as observing their own corpse, "One curse denies life. Another, a monster from old eras not by easy death denied. What will become of you I wonder? Does a stilled heart hear? Perhaps if us war fools choose rightly then might nature's mercies suffer us one more battlefield."

The coldness of the council member toward the wounded as Castaneaea looked at one that might have been her brought a coiled sneer boring past Osgood. Taut restrained ire sunk beneath her scarred face to respond to him a perfunctory nod. More interested in her fellows, followed but slowed through the pack of students as she went until eventually brought up the rear when Osgood crossed the portal once more. Coldness of another sort hurt in a more physical manner to be ripped out underneath a close gaze. The sentries if anyone still made her body numb like hoarfrost stepping out from behind a curtain on the other side of the portal as he lost contact with one plane for another.

~~~

Back in friendly environs, a short counter at his introduction to implied her limits at the constraint between them, "I'm not hungry but I'm glad to have somewhere to meet the others as I'm able."

One couldn't dangle above darkness from a tree limb forever as her grip away from Osgood would eventually weaken. Thrown into darkness would wash up on the shores of his immediate presence. Though she followed well enough as the darkness centered on her will instead when he left. The place was opulent though the furthest things at which she could stare were to her direct left and right in the wide hallway. The room had the smell of cedar that reminded her of the forests she preferred and some other sharp notes her muted senses had trouble identifying.

Her eyes stared at the food, a moment of licking her lips at its mere presence, but knew she couldn't keep it any better than the sword. An ottoman dragged close enough to the fire to sit so first she wouldn't feel so cold but that she didn't have to see the food so clearly or at all was a close second.

Castanea tried to look at the people and not the food that reminds of whining hunger she barely had back and hadn't tended in many years as she broached a thought to quell the mental noises of her stomach, "Well, at least if we're all in this fine mess at least there's none that would easily run under pressure. I don't think the council can be trusted."
 
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Medb gasped as Gae Buidhe struck home and rent a wound in Alienna that would never heal. She had known that the lesser spear of Diarmuid was a puissant weapon, but deep down she'd never believed quite how easy it might be to slay even a sorceress of power.

The sight of the blood made her feel sick and faint. She'd never been squeamish, but the way it pulsed, almost in time with her own heartbeat, made it feel like it was leaving her own body. She felt a deathly chill, and her knees went soft.

Ach, but it's been an age since last I drank, and drank so deep, spoke a voice for Medb's ears alone. A low, manly voice, full of warmth and humour and heart.

Was she your first then? it continued. Nae wonder you're reft. Never you mind. 'Tis ever thus, and it means you've a heart. Look upon the woman you've kilt, lass. Watch as her eyes dim, and she goes to whatever reward she deserves. Don't you turn away, for it's your soul at stake. Know that you've taken away every last hope she's had, every inkling of a future, every dream she's dreamt. She's got naught now and ever more, and that's all on your hands.

There was a sound like a chuckle. Well, and my blade as well, but never you mind that. I'm the spear of Diarmuid Ua Duibhne, and I've spilt the blood of many a man since that best of men first held me. We're master and servant now, for the rest of your life however long it may be, and till next I'm called to the world of men. Wield me with honour, and never forget the look in that woman's eyes. You did right to kill her, but still and all it's a sin to kill. That's the mystery you'll hold in your heart from this day to the end of your days.


* * *


Medb took a seat, still in a daze, and not quite attending to Osgood's words as she should. She'd taken a life, and that of a friend of his. He'd not said a word to her, though, nor treated her any different. But nor did he seem the sort to hide his anger or grief.

She murmured in the general direction of one of the spectres, "I don't suppose you've got any whiskey like? I've got a thirst needs a dram to wash down."
 
Sat with a keen ear the blonde scarred woman in a mismatched garb of button shirt and pants grabs one arm to slide it upward for the illusory shirt to deform in mixed bunches as some obstinate cat slinking up her arm. While she couldn't see her own clothing knew how to get the illusion to behave. A hand-shaped deep burn just above Castenaea's wrist flickered just faintly underneath.

A groan of distaste through the squint of one eye the older accent peeked through to call to Medb near the borders of the dark, "I'm at your shoulder but don't make a habit of setting yourself on fire with a taoscán of guilt. It catches."

The memories of worse days and broken drunk men made liquor too bitter.
 
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The battle was over with a suddenness that hadn’t surprised him in decades. The brush with death had also done little to phase him. After all, the line of work for a detective easily demanded it. With a simple nod of thanks to Harlow, Tobit swapped mags and holstered the weapon. The empty pieces of armor immediately caught his attention. Enchanted, of course. Explains the lack of blood.

For some reason, he almost felt disappointed. Despite the fascinating magic that must have made them operate, he wanted information. Which meant interrogations if possible. After all, he was no scientist and hardly much of a scholar of the magical arts. Resigning himself, he whipped out a little ziplock bag and a brush. Swupt some of the remains up and in, careful to not touch the stuff directly. Though he doubted it would yield much. Perhaps some of the full suits he had sent through his portal would be in better shape. Or, at least, less affected states. Were they possibly still functioning? Later.

Returning to the chamber,he witnessed yet another thing he lacked all context for as Osgood gave a whole hearted farewell to the intruder. Bleeding out in front of him. Well, interrogation of the subject was now lost and Osgood, not one to hold back his feelings it seemed, engaged in yet another debate. No, debate wasn’t the right word. Accusations. Why? What exactly had happened? The wounds seemed old, yet cut open again and again. As though the bandages never had time to properly set. How unhelpful for actually grasp…

‘Do you think it’d taste good dipped in a sauce?’

Tobit Blinked.

What?

‘The pieces of suit. Good in sauce or no.’

What does this have to do with the situation?

‘Food is always important. Maybe a nice marinara … or perhaps a good cheese sauce.’

It’s metal! It wouldn’t taste good in …

‘You’re right. We should dust it on a bread.’

That wouldn’t …

‘Oop! Eyes out and ever forward, my friend, forthwith! And you can’t dream of convincing or cajoling of such a logical notion for I know, above all commotion, the absolute truth of that you dear humans put gold on cake.’

But that’s hardly …

‘Eyes forward! Eyes forward! We’re moving.’


Tobit sighed and allowed himself to be led across the strange complex and to the odd common room. Along the way, he refilled and lit his pipe. The tobacco had fallen out in the scuffle. But, before he could corner the still disheartened Osgood, he shot off. Leaving his students, as they apparently all were, behind. This left him only his peers for information. Well, best get started with the basics and move on form there.

Grabbing a sandwich, he settled in an armchair by the fire. Scooting it to face the rest of the room. “So,” he cast around, “hell of a day. Anyway, I’m Tobit Meadows. Detective of a sort. Think I said some of that at some point, but we were being dragged around on a tour-to-be doomed. Who are you all?”
 
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As the incantation fluttered from his lips, Kiran felt the swirling of magic inside of him begin to build. Just as he felt like he was going to burst, it began flowing out of his hands into the injured Iridian. All of his attention was occupied with keeping the woman alive, the fighting and clashing of swords echoing around him were simply a faint noise in the back of his mind. As he worked, he was slowly able to stop the bleeding. Though, she was still hanging onto life by a thread.

When the commotion around him suddenly quieted, Kiran speared a glance. His gaze fell onto the intruder, her chest pierced with a spear. Kiran’s chest tightened, watching as Osgood said a heartfelt farewell. It was times like these that the blond wished he was stronger and able to save everyone. But, it was frustratingly impossible. Kiran turned his attention back to Iridian, repairing some internal damage to her organs and veins. It was a slow and delicate process, sewing her organs back together.

The blond was so lost in his work, that he had not detected Miran’s presence until she was standing next to him. As the woman emotionlessly brushed Iridian’s hair from her face, he had a protective urge to shoo her away. However, before he could utter a single word, he was startled as the guide awoke and grabbed his hand.

“Shhhh, you're okay...I got you. You’re going to be alright,” He whispered gently, holding the woman's hand firmly and rubbing comforting circles along her palm. While he continued to comfort her, he vaguely paid attention to the conversation happening around him. This whole experience was baffling, and he really was clueless about what was happening. All he could do was focus on his task and note things to ask about later.

When it was decided that it was time to leave, Kiran was hesitant about leaving Iridian in Miran’s care. However, he realized that he didn't have much of a choice. He just hoped that she would be well cared for. Kiran gave a soft goodbye to the woman, before turning to glare at Miran as he trailed after the rest of the group.

While they traveled to the Academy, Kiran remained silent. The blond was still trying to process what all had happened, and watching Osgood’s short temper made it clear that now was not the time for questions. Kiran simply followed the ethereal beings along with the rest of the group to the common room.

Upon entering, he became uncomfortably aware of the dried blood covering his hands and clothes. Now that his adrenaline had settled, the sight of the fluid made him nauseous. After asking one of the blue ethereal beings where a bathroom was, he quickly excused himself to wash up. Although he was able to get most of the blood off of his hands, it appeared that his clothes were stained red. Once he was finished, he returned to the common room with the others.
 
Castanea took her hand away as the sleeve lurched to some state of relaxed more preferred by the false clothing itself. Which despite her contact showed no red soil of blood as it returned to normal shape. A shrug dropped the barest amount of pretense to not insult the intelligence in an even keel reply to Tobit, "How do the plainspoken disabled forces put it now, one who's still Tobit, 'situation normal; all fucked up'?"

She looked at the others though lingered on Kiran sensing he is more hollowed than herself by a single puddle of blood among oceans in her memory, "My name is by other means damned. Say 'Straif' if you want my attention. I'm a," pausing a moment to gaze at the black of the ceiling to think of a truthful modern word that didn't well-inform at least, "former combat medic. Good work triaging the tour guide, Kiran."
 
The battle settled as soon as it started. The coppery scent of blood wafted through the air, causing Harlow's nostrils to flare. She bit down on her lip as her canine teeth grew sharper and thinner, forcing herself to settle. It was nowhere near as horrific as the urge that came when sailors threw old fish bait to attract bigger catches, nowhere near as uncontrollable as she watched unsuspecting prey float above her, bobbing on the surface before she could sink her claws into tender flesh. She counted her breaths, calming herself, grounding herself by gripping the edge of the fountain. Her fangs retracted, the armor coating her skin melting into a puddle beside her. It was over. For now. She could breathe easy until the next nut job strutted through the front door.

Harlow bobbed her head in acknowledgement towards the man she fought beside. Puzzled, she peered across the fountain as Tobit knelt down with a comically sized brush and a plastic bag. Huh, gathering trophies? Either he's collecting evidence or he really likes gathering dust- Harlow swiveled on her heel, leaving the man to his work, deciding it would be better not to interrupt him. He seemed in his own head, and as she passed the previous mayhem, getting a glimpse of the fallen woman, she had to swallow down the lump gathering in her throat.

Don't begin to feel bad, Harlow. You know that she would have lived if she didn't attack the lot of you. She made her choice. You have no right to feel guilty. Whereever her soul has floated off to, that's on her and her decisions. It's not like you are going to see a woman with a puncture wound hovering over you while you sleep.

Harlow wrestled with similar thoughts for the remainder of the journey to the common room. The nausea had risen to her throat, but the nerves had died down. She was starting to feel somewhat safe again. Her eyes glimpsed over the skin of her arms, noting the scales had sunk back into her flesh. She was beginning to look "normal" again. She would have preferred the safety of the scales, of her teeth, of being in her full natural element, but this was a better position to be with other people.

She plopped herself down into a chair, hands pressed to her knees, watching the blonde man leave for a brief moment. Her attention was drawn back to the man she had fought beside, the one with the tiny brush and bag of dust. "Tobit, Straif, pleasure. Would have been nicer to meet under more...peaceful circumstances." Despite herself, her lips perked upwards into a humored smile. "Then again, that might be too much to ask for in a place like this. I'm Harlow. Sailing instructor, well, under the table sort of thing." Nowhere near as impressive as being a detective or having a cursed name, but hey, she got to push people over board without getting in trouble.