Mostly, the voyage was quiet. Hack, as Salvia still chose to think of him despite the implications that Braga seemed to have made about his true nature, stayed in the cockpit, locked, for most of the trip. Since she only saw him at meals, it may as well have been the whole trip, but she sort of assumed he also used the rest room once or twice. Braga seemed to be determined to learn every inch of the ship, and probably knew as much by the end of the first day as Salvia knew about every starship in existence. He was, especially by the standards of the notoriously non-intellectually inclined Ga-Vok, brilliant. It didn't seem to bother him that Hack didn't show himself except at meals, in fact he seemed to have anticipated it. Any time he had any sort of question, he'd scamper off to the kitchen and start cooking. He was rather good at it too.
Salvia had set to composing a letter to the Coven, explaining her findings and activities so that they wouldn't come looking for her. Between edits and rewrites of her letter, she meditated, prayed, and practiced some of her less dangerous magic in the gymnasium. She found herself thinking of her first magic instructor, the very priest she was now looking for, Father Krell. He'd taken her in off the streets when she was scarcely five. She couldn't remember much from then; lots of fire, loud noises, people screaming. Her mother had been tall, she remembered that much. Her father wore glasses, and he wasn't home much. His chin had been itchy, somehow that always stuck with her. Maybe it was just the contrast between the father who'd never been there when she was little and the Father who had that made her remember it so vividly. She remembered him kneeling in front of her and saying simply, "Come now, let's get you somewhere safe."
He'd said it three times her whole life. The day he found her, the day she'd first manifested magic, and her first assignment as a witch; and every time her life had changed. The first two were obvious, and he'd been there for his own reasons. He'd never spoken of the day he picked her up off of the rubble, only that he wished he could have done more. The second time he'd been visiting her at the orphanage, as he had every sunday so he could teach her and offer support. It had always marked her as special, and she'd gotten picked on a lot by jealous kids. It wasn't quite the same as having parents, but it still made her feel loved. Then one kid decided to pull her hair, and she stopped him. No mage could say that their first time was 'under control' but her intent was certainly expressed clearly. That was also the first time she'd ever realized what Father Krell was. He always wore concealing clothing, but the speed he moved with had knocked back his hood. At first she was scared, then she was just curious. Most of the Nielda in the Empire were afflicted with the plague, but the plague preserved what it rotted. Father Krell was a true form, a proper undead. He'd explained later what had happened, as best he knew, but Salvia was content to know that he was good, and wasn't going to kill her.
The third time she didn't like to think about.
"So you know the good Father? Nice man, not enough men like that in the world."
Salvia instinctively released the weights from one end of bar and swung the remaining hundred with everything she could muster. The dark man blocked it with an open palm, and the resulting reverberation shook it from her hand.
"Sorry 'bout that, not used to dealing with people yet. Haven't really had a serious dialogue with anyone but my Old Friend for...longer than is strictly anyone's concern."
Salvia recovered, although her hand was still twitching uncontrollably, and recognized the man. He'd been with the Enchanter back on Krove. Something about him had startled Hack, but other than his ability to teleport onto a moving ship in the middle of subspace, she couldn't tell why.
"What are you doing here?"
"You can't really tell out here, but it's the middle of the day back on Krove. Honeysuckle is taking a class on one of her field trips, so she asked if I could deliver your weapon." He presented a good sized medium case, she couldn't tell what kind of wood it was, only that it was very expensive and likely magical.
"Trueshot to make it more accurate, hits where you want it to instead of where you point it, within reason of course. Variable Element to add versatility, just focus on the desired effect and it'll make it happen. Bottomless quiver, with a modification to make it automatically reloaded, all you have to do is ready the hammer and pull the trigger, never worry about running out of shots. Witch's nocturne is a rather potent enchantment, allows your shots to act as though they were silver against Lycanthropes, wooden stakes against vampires, or similarly properly enchanted to deal with whatever your adversary."
"What's that have to do with witch's? I've never known a witch to be ready for those sorts of things, or even connected to nocturnes. Most witch's prefer pop and rock to any classical piece."
"It's a really old enchantment. I don't know who named it, only that i'd have called it sure-kill or 'divine dirge'."
"Sorry."
"You didn't know, but you could probably stand to complain of names a bit less. The last one I did help name; TransAstral summoning. Even if it has been visibly destroyed, or thrown within the event horizon of a black hole, or otherwise made unusable, you can call it to hand. And only you can do so."
Handy, Salvia decided not to point out the problems this would create were she to die. It was unusable by anyone else, but indestructible. Still, its not as though she planned on dying anyways.
"What do I owe you?"
"Personal favor, don't mention it."
"Well thank you."
"For what? I haven't told you the favor yet."
"Oh, its just.." He'd already mentioned he wasn't used to talking to people, and done so in the most suspicion provoking way possible, so she decided to just cut him some slack. "Go ahead, I'm listening."
"When you meet Father Krell, tell him that Lewiza would want him to be happy. Tell the Assassin that her mother died well. And when you meet the Dark Lady, tell her..well played. She'll know what it means; I doubt the other two will be quite so happy when they hear their news, but it'll do them a lot of good in the long run."
"That's it, pass along personal messages?"
"At our level, that's an epic quest. Now for you; large red buttons work exactly when they are supposed to, and never sooner." And then he vanished.
Thursday, June 14, 2012
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
The Other Witch; Honor among Wolves
Hack had a nice little ship, there was no questioning it. Cushiony seating, tinted windows, showers that worked, and most importantly of all, locking doors. It wasn't as though Salvia was worried they'd do anything, Hack seemed fundamentally above such things and their new found, wolfish friend seemed both highly principled, it was just that she felt safer knowing that the door wouldn't just open for anyone.
But for all that the ship still felt like it was missing something. She was sitting in the lounge, looking out across the vacuum of space, pondering the sensation when the answer came to her.
"In all my studies of Old Cloak and his adventures, I always assumed that his ship was..bigger."
Salvia wasn't startled, Ga-Vok didn't have the advantage of retractable claws like Jaguans did. But even if the floor had been made of dirt or snow she'd have known he was coming. He hid his thoughts as well as any she'd ever encountered, save Father Krell and Hack, but she could still detect the patterns of it; slow and deliberate as they were. It was like hearing a chanted hymn as you walked by a church; she didn't know the words, but she certainly knew the tone.
"You've hoped for this moment all your life, haven't you?"
"My people have never been represented well over the ages, and even now it is more likely that a shaman seeks his own power over the good of others. Old Cloak has always sought out the best of us, and shown our more worthy side to those who would watch. It is a great honor to travel with him."
"Is that the only reason you chose to come?"
"No, but it would have been enough. And even were Old Cloak's goals such that they held me back from my own, I would still follow."
Salvia knew she wasn't going to get much more of his goals, but she did feel comforted by the implication that his goals did indeed line up with their current objectives. She hesitated and then asked one of the other questions that had been on her mind.
"Why do you call him that?"
"Who? Old Cloak?"
"Yes, when I met him he told me to call him Hack. I know it isn't his real name but Old Cloak isn't anymore than a name than 'Axe guy' or.."
"Spider Witch? Cleanhand? What would you call yourself if your name was what you truly were? That is why I call him Old Cloak, it is who he is. He may wear another's cloak, but the burden of his own still weighs heavily upon him."
Salvia looked down and noticed the white, needlepoint spiderweb she emblazoned all of her robes with. It was really just their to make what was otherwise just a regular, women's medium, black robe look more witchy.
"And what are you? Ga-Vok philosophy student?"
"Scholar. I graduated from the Academy some years ago, but have stayed on to use the library and study more advanced techniques with those instructors willing to provide me with their time. My name is Braga, of the Blowing Leaves Clan. And I have not yet earned a," he made a sound like he was sneezing backwards, then a short yowl, Salvia knew only enough Ga-Vok to know it was a word and not an injury. He paused and continued, seeing her confused expression. "I believe the closest word you have is 'title'. It is much more than that, but there is no proper translation of the concept."
"Ah."
"So then, now that I have introduced myself, I believe the traditions of your people..."
"Right," she extended a handshake, politely if hastily, "Salvia Hex, Witch-Errant."
Braga took her hand in his own. It was rougher, but more padded than that of a man, but she was relieved to find that the claws were far less sharp than they appeared. "It is an honor to meet you Miss Hex. You probably are not aware of how much good you have done for my clan."
"I have no recollection of your clan whatsoever, if you'll pardon my ignorance."
"Some years ago you investigated the disappearance of a young whelp named Shano. Your findings prevented considerable disgrace from falling upon the Blowing Leaves Clan."
"If I remember correctly, Shano was disintegrated by a rather bigoted mage. How exactly did that prevent disgrace?"
The full case had actually been rather more complex. She'd only even been involved because his young sister had shown up on the doorstep of the local witch's guild crying hysterically about how her brother had abandoned her, mistaking the covenhouse for a police station. The attendant witch had begun to panic herself, neither speaking Ga-Vok nor being sure whether to report it to the police or go looking for a fully grown Ga-Vok warrior in the dead of night. Salvia had been in town, she couldn't quite remember why, only that there had been a lot of pasta sauce, porcupines, and a tribe of very small people who communicated by making clicking noises, and was quickly assigned the case. After hiring a translator, she'd discovered only where he'd last been and that it was unthinkable for a Ga-Vok to leave a female relative unattended in a strange land, especially a young female relative. Long story short, rascism, occult activities, she'd had to shoot the mage, and the little Ga-Vok girl turned out to be...Oh, that's where he got the disgrace part from.
"Oh right, cause he was a prince or whatsit?"
"The son of the Chieftan, but you grasp the concept. Not actually the cause of disgrace though, had he been alive and abandoned his young sister he would have been shirking his duties and casting the values of our people into the gutter. Instead you displayed that he was honorably defeated by a wielder of power beyond his own."
"He was disintegrated, how is that honorable?"
"He did not forsake his duty, even when it was in his best interest to flee. It is expected of all warriors, including those of your own people."
"I guess. Never really cared much for honor myself."
"And yet you are known to my people as a one who possesses it. Perhaps you will come to know this better in the coming days." Braga rose and departed. Salvia turned back to the stars and whispered a prayer that she'd never have to meet an 'honorable death' herself.
But for all that the ship still felt like it was missing something. She was sitting in the lounge, looking out across the vacuum of space, pondering the sensation when the answer came to her.
"In all my studies of Old Cloak and his adventures, I always assumed that his ship was..bigger."
Salvia wasn't startled, Ga-Vok didn't have the advantage of retractable claws like Jaguans did. But even if the floor had been made of dirt or snow she'd have known he was coming. He hid his thoughts as well as any she'd ever encountered, save Father Krell and Hack, but she could still detect the patterns of it; slow and deliberate as they were. It was like hearing a chanted hymn as you walked by a church; she didn't know the words, but she certainly knew the tone.
"You've hoped for this moment all your life, haven't you?"
"My people have never been represented well over the ages, and even now it is more likely that a shaman seeks his own power over the good of others. Old Cloak has always sought out the best of us, and shown our more worthy side to those who would watch. It is a great honor to travel with him."
"Is that the only reason you chose to come?"
"No, but it would have been enough. And even were Old Cloak's goals such that they held me back from my own, I would still follow."
Salvia knew she wasn't going to get much more of his goals, but she did feel comforted by the implication that his goals did indeed line up with their current objectives. She hesitated and then asked one of the other questions that had been on her mind.
"Why do you call him that?"
"Who? Old Cloak?"
"Yes, when I met him he told me to call him Hack. I know it isn't his real name but Old Cloak isn't anymore than a name than 'Axe guy' or.."
"Spider Witch? Cleanhand? What would you call yourself if your name was what you truly were? That is why I call him Old Cloak, it is who he is. He may wear another's cloak, but the burden of his own still weighs heavily upon him."
Salvia looked down and noticed the white, needlepoint spiderweb she emblazoned all of her robes with. It was really just their to make what was otherwise just a regular, women's medium, black robe look more witchy.
"And what are you? Ga-Vok philosophy student?"
"Scholar. I graduated from the Academy some years ago, but have stayed on to use the library and study more advanced techniques with those instructors willing to provide me with their time. My name is Braga, of the Blowing Leaves Clan. And I have not yet earned a," he made a sound like he was sneezing backwards, then a short yowl, Salvia knew only enough Ga-Vok to know it was a word and not an injury. He paused and continued, seeing her confused expression. "I believe the closest word you have is 'title'. It is much more than that, but there is no proper translation of the concept."
"Ah."
"So then, now that I have introduced myself, I believe the traditions of your people..."
"Right," she extended a handshake, politely if hastily, "Salvia Hex, Witch-Errant."
Braga took her hand in his own. It was rougher, but more padded than that of a man, but she was relieved to find that the claws were far less sharp than they appeared. "It is an honor to meet you Miss Hex. You probably are not aware of how much good you have done for my clan."
"I have no recollection of your clan whatsoever, if you'll pardon my ignorance."
"Some years ago you investigated the disappearance of a young whelp named Shano. Your findings prevented considerable disgrace from falling upon the Blowing Leaves Clan."
"If I remember correctly, Shano was disintegrated by a rather bigoted mage. How exactly did that prevent disgrace?"
The full case had actually been rather more complex. She'd only even been involved because his young sister had shown up on the doorstep of the local witch's guild crying hysterically about how her brother had abandoned her, mistaking the covenhouse for a police station. The attendant witch had begun to panic herself, neither speaking Ga-Vok nor being sure whether to report it to the police or go looking for a fully grown Ga-Vok warrior in the dead of night. Salvia had been in town, she couldn't quite remember why, only that there had been a lot of pasta sauce, porcupines, and a tribe of very small people who communicated by making clicking noises, and was quickly assigned the case. After hiring a translator, she'd discovered only where he'd last been and that it was unthinkable for a Ga-Vok to leave a female relative unattended in a strange land, especially a young female relative. Long story short, rascism, occult activities, she'd had to shoot the mage, and the little Ga-Vok girl turned out to be...Oh, that's where he got the disgrace part from.
"Oh right, cause he was a prince or whatsit?"
"The son of the Chieftan, but you grasp the concept. Not actually the cause of disgrace though, had he been alive and abandoned his young sister he would have been shirking his duties and casting the values of our people into the gutter. Instead you displayed that he was honorably defeated by a wielder of power beyond his own."
"He was disintegrated, how is that honorable?"
"He did not forsake his duty, even when it was in his best interest to flee. It is expected of all warriors, including those of your own people."
"I guess. Never really cared much for honor myself."
"And yet you are known to my people as a one who possesses it. Perhaps you will come to know this better in the coming days." Braga rose and departed. Salvia turned back to the stars and whispered a prayer that she'd never have to meet an 'honorable death' herself.
Monday, June 11, 2012
The Other Witch: The Wolf Under the Tree
What few people ever mentioned when they described the Arcane Academy, was that the only way to get to it was to climb the God-only-knows-how-many-steps to the top. The enchantments laden upon the Academy prevented all but the most powerful immortals, and school faculty, from teleporting into the grounds. Now Salvia was a pretty strong witch, not to brag, and she could feel enough loose fibers in the invisible weave that made up the enchantment to know that it had been pierced a few times before, but she could also tell that none of the gaps would have been big enough for her to slip past without considerably more power than she could muster with forty days rest and meditation.
Hack probably possessed the needed power, but he'd given no indication of having any prowess with magic thus far. Salvia doubted that he had any magical power beyond that of the magical items he carried, and a few ancient wards. Not to say he was any less for it, she wouldn't have staked her life on a fight with the man.
At the top of the stairs there was a little clearing, a sort of rest stop before further, fewer stairs leading to the school itself. There were benches, a restroom facility, and a few tall, older trees. Under one of these trees, towards which Hack was now advancing, was an almost humanoid figure. Though it was some distance away, she could make out the long muzzle and mottled grey and brown fur of a Ga-Vok. His ears rose to sharp points, neither sagging nor scarred, a sign of youth and having not been on the bad end of a battle yet. Since none but students had any cause to be at the top of those god-awful stairs, Salvia felt she could assume it was by prowess that such battle had been avoided. Physical Combat was a required course at the Academy, or so she'd heard. There was a book, too small to be a textbook but too hard to be a notebook and thus most likely for his own entertainment, closed in his lap. Beside him, leaned against the side of the tree, was a great-axe, double bladed and reaching a point on both sides. Like most weapons of the Ga-Vok, it was etched with scenes of wolves and other symbols that bore no significance to those not of the canine race.
"I expected you to wear your own cloak." His voice betrayed him as a male, though it was not so readily obvious to her Nieldic ears as would have been the gender of a human speaker. "After all, how else would one know the face of the bringer of great destinies?"
"It rests on the shoulders of one who needs it more than I, and shall be recovered at such a time when it is no longer needed. Such is the nature of these things."
"Perhaps you shall tell me further of the nature of things later, Old Cloak. For now let us focus on the purpose of your visit. To what adventure is this one called?"
Hack laughed and looked back at Salvia. "This is why I have always loved the Ga-Vok, nothing is without purpose to them, and they are always so true to the point of things, in their own fashion." He turned back to the Ga-Vok and continued, "A great threat is rising, and it is of a nature that garners my action. The crown of Thalia Immersfeld, my ancient foe, is in danger of being stolen by the fell enchantress, Elda, the Maelstrom. If it were to fall into her hands, even the strongest of immortals could not hope to land a blow against her and all would be helpless in the face of her power."
"Really? Because I've heard tell of Immortals greater even than the pantheon, assassin's who tread beyond time, and Petra, the Paladin. You mean to say that even they could not harm her?" Salvia realized that she was operating on little more than rumors, but rumors about immortals had a bad habit of being true.
"If such immortals were to exist, then yes, even they. The enchantment upon the crown is unlike any other, Thalia vested the might of the Gravagan race itself in that crown, that it would grow in strength as they grew in number. It is an enchantment of fortune, and there is only form of power greater. No blow of sword, no bolt of spellfire, or blast of cannon can strike the wearer, for by some contrivance of circumstance their aim will be thrown. Even should all the fleets of the universe take aim upon her, they would find their shells both duds and off course, or worse. It is the sole reason I never defeated her, and I am ashamed I did not keep a closer watch upon it."
The Ga-Vok raised his axe to his shoulder and let the book vanish into slip-space. He turned to face them and spoke softly, "Well then, Old Cloak, we must be off. There is little time to waste and I doubt I am the only hero to whom you are extending this call."
Hack probably possessed the needed power, but he'd given no indication of having any prowess with magic thus far. Salvia doubted that he had any magical power beyond that of the magical items he carried, and a few ancient wards. Not to say he was any less for it, she wouldn't have staked her life on a fight with the man.
At the top of the stairs there was a little clearing, a sort of rest stop before further, fewer stairs leading to the school itself. There were benches, a restroom facility, and a few tall, older trees. Under one of these trees, towards which Hack was now advancing, was an almost humanoid figure. Though it was some distance away, she could make out the long muzzle and mottled grey and brown fur of a Ga-Vok. His ears rose to sharp points, neither sagging nor scarred, a sign of youth and having not been on the bad end of a battle yet. Since none but students had any cause to be at the top of those god-awful stairs, Salvia felt she could assume it was by prowess that such battle had been avoided. Physical Combat was a required course at the Academy, or so she'd heard. There was a book, too small to be a textbook but too hard to be a notebook and thus most likely for his own entertainment, closed in his lap. Beside him, leaned against the side of the tree, was a great-axe, double bladed and reaching a point on both sides. Like most weapons of the Ga-Vok, it was etched with scenes of wolves and other symbols that bore no significance to those not of the canine race.
"I expected you to wear your own cloak." His voice betrayed him as a male, though it was not so readily obvious to her Nieldic ears as would have been the gender of a human speaker. "After all, how else would one know the face of the bringer of great destinies?"
"It rests on the shoulders of one who needs it more than I, and shall be recovered at such a time when it is no longer needed. Such is the nature of these things."
"Perhaps you shall tell me further of the nature of things later, Old Cloak. For now let us focus on the purpose of your visit. To what adventure is this one called?"
Hack laughed and looked back at Salvia. "This is why I have always loved the Ga-Vok, nothing is without purpose to them, and they are always so true to the point of things, in their own fashion." He turned back to the Ga-Vok and continued, "A great threat is rising, and it is of a nature that garners my action. The crown of Thalia Immersfeld, my ancient foe, is in danger of being stolen by the fell enchantress, Elda, the Maelstrom. If it were to fall into her hands, even the strongest of immortals could not hope to land a blow against her and all would be helpless in the face of her power."
"Really? Because I've heard tell of Immortals greater even than the pantheon, assassin's who tread beyond time, and Petra, the Paladin. You mean to say that even they could not harm her?" Salvia realized that she was operating on little more than rumors, but rumors about immortals had a bad habit of being true.
"If such immortals were to exist, then yes, even they. The enchantment upon the crown is unlike any other, Thalia vested the might of the Gravagan race itself in that crown, that it would grow in strength as they grew in number. It is an enchantment of fortune, and there is only form of power greater. No blow of sword, no bolt of spellfire, or blast of cannon can strike the wearer, for by some contrivance of circumstance their aim will be thrown. Even should all the fleets of the universe take aim upon her, they would find their shells both duds and off course, or worse. It is the sole reason I never defeated her, and I am ashamed I did not keep a closer watch upon it."
The Ga-Vok raised his axe to his shoulder and let the book vanish into slip-space. He turned to face them and spoke softly, "Well then, Old Cloak, we must be off. There is little time to waste and I doubt I am the only hero to whom you are extending this call."
Sunday, June 10, 2012
The Other Witch: The Tavern At Which Adventure Begins
Hack had recovered several hours later, and proceeded directly to the nearest tavern, where he proceeded to buy the strongest drink available, down it without stopping for breath, then buy a round for everyone present proclaiming loudly, "Its finally happened. I never would have believed it. I always hoped for it, but I still don't believe it. Gentlefolk, hell is officially frozen over."
Salvia had woken up the next morning in a room on the tavern's upper floor. Hack had fallen asleep in the bathtub, and from the looks of things had managed to miraculously not throw up even once. She found herself wondering if he'd slept their to be gentlemanly, or if he'd just cleaned up after himself. She couldn't see herself having cleaned up after him, one bad boyfriend back in secondary school had been all the cleaning up after drunks she could handle.
The room was nice; high ceiling, wallpaper that wasn't peeling, and a bed that passed her sanitation test (no living creatures, bacteria, or bodily fluids detectable by magic). The whole place was well lit, even the closets. Fixtures in the bathroom were all brass. Sink, toilet, and tub were fiberglass treated to look like porcelain. The curtain was an opaque cream color with a pattern of all six of the classical elements of magic. Normally a place this orderly and clean would have seemed a bit suspicious, but this was Krove. No doubt the whole place would clean itself once they checked out and could be redecorated on a whim and a will by the owner.
What couldn't be changed was the view. The window was non-magical, but needed no such enhancement to offer a grand sight. The Arcane Academy, wrapped around Mount Hadougal, dominated the horizon. The magics that had become embedded within the school, mountain, and even the very atmosphere of the planet, caused it to be surrounded by a perpetual pocket of prismatic vapors, giving it the appearance of being seen through a rainbow colored fog. The Academy itself was a collection of sandstone structures, gorgeous gardens, and decidedly dangerous crypts. During the school year, it was in session currently, students only left the grounds to carouse with the locals or go on questionable field trips with their professors. Exactly what made these field trips questionable varied from teacher to teacher; the enchanting teacher often took whole classes out to hear obscure legends from distant locals, while several years back their had been a scandal involving the 'field trips' the former healing instructor had taken several female students on.
As Salvia stood admiring the view and reflecting on what it must be like to go to school at the Academy, she heard Hack roll out of bed, metaphorically speaking, and, after attending to his hygiene, he came out into the bedroom.
"I received some interesting news while we were sleeping. Dire news, the sort that makes me re-plan my year."
"While you were...Are you psychic or something?"
"More of an ability to be more than one place at a time, its complicated, end of discussion. Point is, I'm putting together a team, and you're on it. We will most likely still run into your priest, considering the nature of the adventure, so none of your particular plans will be delayed substantially." He paused a second to let it sink in a little before adding. "If you've ever seen my adventures, you'll know that they are always worth your while."
"Your adventures?"
"You still don't know who I truly am, do you? Has it even crossed your mind?"
Before Salvia could collect enough thought to be crossed, Hack pushed open the door and began walking towards the academy. She followed silently as she began to wonder what sort of adventure she'd never actually quite signed up for. Whatever it was, the pace was all wrong. For starters, there still hadn't been a single fight, not even to set tone or establish someone as being powerful. All she had were a vampire's assurances that the man she traveled with could outmatch an imperial guard as well as she could an angry bunny. Whatever it was, she hoped they'd find someone who could properly explain what was going on, and soon.
Salvia had woken up the next morning in a room on the tavern's upper floor. Hack had fallen asleep in the bathtub, and from the looks of things had managed to miraculously not throw up even once. She found herself wondering if he'd slept their to be gentlemanly, or if he'd just cleaned up after himself. She couldn't see herself having cleaned up after him, one bad boyfriend back in secondary school had been all the cleaning up after drunks she could handle.
The room was nice; high ceiling, wallpaper that wasn't peeling, and a bed that passed her sanitation test (no living creatures, bacteria, or bodily fluids detectable by magic). The whole place was well lit, even the closets. Fixtures in the bathroom were all brass. Sink, toilet, and tub were fiberglass treated to look like porcelain. The curtain was an opaque cream color with a pattern of all six of the classical elements of magic. Normally a place this orderly and clean would have seemed a bit suspicious, but this was Krove. No doubt the whole place would clean itself once they checked out and could be redecorated on a whim and a will by the owner.
What couldn't be changed was the view. The window was non-magical, but needed no such enhancement to offer a grand sight. The Arcane Academy, wrapped around Mount Hadougal, dominated the horizon. The magics that had become embedded within the school, mountain, and even the very atmosphere of the planet, caused it to be surrounded by a perpetual pocket of prismatic vapors, giving it the appearance of being seen through a rainbow colored fog. The Academy itself was a collection of sandstone structures, gorgeous gardens, and decidedly dangerous crypts. During the school year, it was in session currently, students only left the grounds to carouse with the locals or go on questionable field trips with their professors. Exactly what made these field trips questionable varied from teacher to teacher; the enchanting teacher often took whole classes out to hear obscure legends from distant locals, while several years back their had been a scandal involving the 'field trips' the former healing instructor had taken several female students on.
As Salvia stood admiring the view and reflecting on what it must be like to go to school at the Academy, she heard Hack roll out of bed, metaphorically speaking, and, after attending to his hygiene, he came out into the bedroom.
"I received some interesting news while we were sleeping. Dire news, the sort that makes me re-plan my year."
"While you were...Are you psychic or something?"
"More of an ability to be more than one place at a time, its complicated, end of discussion. Point is, I'm putting together a team, and you're on it. We will most likely still run into your priest, considering the nature of the adventure, so none of your particular plans will be delayed substantially." He paused a second to let it sink in a little before adding. "If you've ever seen my adventures, you'll know that they are always worth your while."
"Your adventures?"
"You still don't know who I truly am, do you? Has it even crossed your mind?"
Before Salvia could collect enough thought to be crossed, Hack pushed open the door and began walking towards the academy. She followed silently as she began to wonder what sort of adventure she'd never actually quite signed up for. Whatever it was, the pace was all wrong. For starters, there still hadn't been a single fight, not even to set tone or establish someone as being powerful. All she had were a vampire's assurances that the man she traveled with could outmatch an imperial guard as well as she could an angry bunny. Whatever it was, she hoped they'd find someone who could properly explain what was going on, and soon.
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
Storm Mage; Chapter Two
"Tala! The Maid's were saying that you had a private audience with Father. Is it true? Did you talk to him?"
Tala's sister, her only full blood relative besides her father, was sitting in her usual spot next on the balcony with her knitting and a book, 'Illusions for the Royal or Mildly Paranoid'. Unlike, and in many ways because of, Tala, Niste had become a proper princess. To the rare human visitor to the court, it was obvious that she was the prize to be won if one was to try and marry into the family. She was feminine, delicate, looked good in a dress and knew it. She had wavy blonde hair that came down to her shoulders and shimmered like good silk, and even though she was several years younger than Tala, she was both taller and curvier. And that was all before she broke into her vast supply of magical illusions and mystic alterations.
Of course the Nielda didn't think of a princess as someone you married off. A princess was someone you expected to lead armies into battle and come home victorious. A princess didn't have to be pretty, she had to be smart and able to run a country when her parents passed. And when a delegate from the Imperial Guard had visited the Summer Palace on Gasca, where both Tala and Niste had lived their whole lives, he had still assumed that Niste was the princess. Because when you boiled it all down, Tala was the shortest person in the court, and people expected to look up to their leaders. Especially in her family, lead by the tallest man in the empire.
"It's true, I talked to him. He wanted to make me an offer."
Niste set her knitting aside and jumped up to face her sister.
"And? Is he going to protect us?"
"He'll protect you."
"What about you? What'll you do?"
"I'm goin to command his troops. I leave for trainin in the morning."
Tala could see her sister catch her crest as it fell and compose herself. Much as they both disliked it, the guard had been right, Niste would make a much better princess than she would. Even if it didn't convey strength, strength wasn't all people wanted to see when bad news was delivered, a little bit of weakness said just as much as years of strength. Tala never would've been able to give them that, but Niste couldn't stop herself. She'd do well at court, it was where she'd always been meant to be. Tala wished she could say the same of herself.
"But who will protect you if I'm not around?"
Tala laughed and hugged her sister. They both knew she needed no help taking care of herself. Niste was an illusionist and even dabbled in enchanting, but Tala could kill men with her stare and stop light in its tracks if she tried. The only thing that had given Niste the peace to wear dresses and knit her, whatever you called them, was Tala's ability to fight off anyone, and there were many, who tried to hurt them. It was that strength that had gotten their father's attention, and it was that strength that would keep her safe.
"I guess we'll both have to trust our father's men to take care of things."
They both retired to their own seperate chambers for the night. The suite they lived in was three rooms and the balcony. It was luxurious, but small by palace standards. And alongside access to the Palace facilities, it had given the two of them enough room to stay out of each other's hair, while still keeping them close. Tala was pleased to find that her father was a man of his word, as she could detect, though only barely, that there were two guards posted on the balcony, and another at the door. With that knowledge, she slept more soundly than she had for many years.
"Have you got my cloak?"
"The green one or the blue one?"
"I was thinkin the gray one."
"You want to go into battle in Gray? But its so droll and uninspiring."
"Yeah, but it'll stand up to the weather better than the rest would. Have to be practical about this sort of thing."
Niste sighed and opened the closet. Tala never went in herself, Niste had much better choice in clothes than she did. If it was up to her, she'd have marched into her father's court in jeans and a T-shirt. All these formalities just seemed like a lot of nonsense as far as she was concerned. But Niste liked them, so she tolerated it. She'd have done anything for her sister.
"So if you're wearing the gray cloak, I think we should go with the dark blue blouse, the loose one, and black trousers. And a swordbelt, even though you haven't got a sword to wear with it. It'll give you kind of a swashbuckler sort of look, and I think it'll go great with your hair."
Tala tried to picture it, but she'd always had a bit of trouble visualizing and couldn't quite wrap her mind around it. Niste brought the indicated articles of clothing out and did a little tiddly thing with her hands. Tala had never really understood why Niste preferred the tiddly movements over a simple brushing gesture, but she did and ultimately they both got her in and out of clothes without her having to figure out how all of the laces and clasps worked so she wasn't going to complain. Niste conjured up full length mirror and moved to Tala's side to get a proper look at it.
"How'd I do?"
"You're right, it would look better with a sword. But I do like it."
Niste pulled her hair back as gently as she could, which wasn't as gently as she thought it was, and began to tie it into a pony tail. It wasn't easy, and it hurt a bit. Tala did not take nearly as good of care of her hair as Niste did, and it was frizzy and tangled. People had always said it had the potential to be extraordinarily pretty if she put some effort in, but Tala just had other things she was more concerned about, like keeping Niste and herself alive. Finally she felt a last few stray hairs being pulled as a fancy jeweled clasp was locked in place at the end of her hair, it barely weighed anything but it still rested against her back and Tala would've never admitted to her sister how uncomfortable she found it.
"There, now you look just like Petra herself, a right swordswoman." Niste was beaming, and Tala wondered if anyone else would have been able to tell how she really felt.
"I'll miss you Niste. Who will protect me from my bad fashion sense and poor hygiene when you aren't around?"
"I'm sure you'll meet a nice man with a good sense of style and class up the wazoo."
"What's a wazoo and why would class be coming out of it?"
"Oh its the sort of small pitcher they put the..."
Niste was interrupted by a knock at the door.
"I'm here to escort Miss Tala to the shuttle. Are you both decent?"
"No, but we're both dressed."
The door opened and a gruff looking gentleman stepped in. He looked to be in his hundred and fifties, judging by the gray of his mutton chops and the tone of his skin. He wore an oblong hat that was as wide at the top as at the brim, but much smaller in between, and a uniform that had been kept clean, decorated with the sort of medals only obtained by getting dirty.
"The name's Coleridge, David Coleridge. But you can call me Chops, or David, or Colonel Coleridge. I even respond to Colonel Mustard sometimes, if I'm not hearing well or the wife's not around. I'll be your Executive Officer, and top adviser."
"I thought I was going to trainin?"
"You are, of a sort, strategic command the old fashioned way, by watching us old hats until you feel ready to pitch in yourself an' what-like."
"You mean, By commandin actual troops?"
"Yes, I believe that was what your father meant when he told me to get you out into the field as soon as possible."
Tala could feel Niste's grip on her cloak tighten. This wasn't what either of them had expected.
Tala's sister, her only full blood relative besides her father, was sitting in her usual spot next on the balcony with her knitting and a book, 'Illusions for the Royal or Mildly Paranoid'. Unlike, and in many ways because of, Tala, Niste had become a proper princess. To the rare human visitor to the court, it was obvious that she was the prize to be won if one was to try and marry into the family. She was feminine, delicate, looked good in a dress and knew it. She had wavy blonde hair that came down to her shoulders and shimmered like good silk, and even though she was several years younger than Tala, she was both taller and curvier. And that was all before she broke into her vast supply of magical illusions and mystic alterations.
Of course the Nielda didn't think of a princess as someone you married off. A princess was someone you expected to lead armies into battle and come home victorious. A princess didn't have to be pretty, she had to be smart and able to run a country when her parents passed. And when a delegate from the Imperial Guard had visited the Summer Palace on Gasca, where both Tala and Niste had lived their whole lives, he had still assumed that Niste was the princess. Because when you boiled it all down, Tala was the shortest person in the court, and people expected to look up to their leaders. Especially in her family, lead by the tallest man in the empire.
"It's true, I talked to him. He wanted to make me an offer."
Niste set her knitting aside and jumped up to face her sister.
"And? Is he going to protect us?"
"He'll protect you."
"What about you? What'll you do?"
"I'm goin to command his troops. I leave for trainin in the morning."
Tala could see her sister catch her crest as it fell and compose herself. Much as they both disliked it, the guard had been right, Niste would make a much better princess than she would. Even if it didn't convey strength, strength wasn't all people wanted to see when bad news was delivered, a little bit of weakness said just as much as years of strength. Tala never would've been able to give them that, but Niste couldn't stop herself. She'd do well at court, it was where she'd always been meant to be. Tala wished she could say the same of herself.
"But who will protect you if I'm not around?"
Tala laughed and hugged her sister. They both knew she needed no help taking care of herself. Niste was an illusionist and even dabbled in enchanting, but Tala could kill men with her stare and stop light in its tracks if she tried. The only thing that had given Niste the peace to wear dresses and knit her, whatever you called them, was Tala's ability to fight off anyone, and there were many, who tried to hurt them. It was that strength that had gotten their father's attention, and it was that strength that would keep her safe.
"I guess we'll both have to trust our father's men to take care of things."
They both retired to their own seperate chambers for the night. The suite they lived in was three rooms and the balcony. It was luxurious, but small by palace standards. And alongside access to the Palace facilities, it had given the two of them enough room to stay out of each other's hair, while still keeping them close. Tala was pleased to find that her father was a man of his word, as she could detect, though only barely, that there were two guards posted on the balcony, and another at the door. With that knowledge, she slept more soundly than she had for many years.
"Have you got my cloak?"
"The green one or the blue one?"
"I was thinkin the gray one."
"You want to go into battle in Gray? But its so droll and uninspiring."
"Yeah, but it'll stand up to the weather better than the rest would. Have to be practical about this sort of thing."
Niste sighed and opened the closet. Tala never went in herself, Niste had much better choice in clothes than she did. If it was up to her, she'd have marched into her father's court in jeans and a T-shirt. All these formalities just seemed like a lot of nonsense as far as she was concerned. But Niste liked them, so she tolerated it. She'd have done anything for her sister.
"So if you're wearing the gray cloak, I think we should go with the dark blue blouse, the loose one, and black trousers. And a swordbelt, even though you haven't got a sword to wear with it. It'll give you kind of a swashbuckler sort of look, and I think it'll go great with your hair."
Tala tried to picture it, but she'd always had a bit of trouble visualizing and couldn't quite wrap her mind around it. Niste brought the indicated articles of clothing out and did a little tiddly thing with her hands. Tala had never really understood why Niste preferred the tiddly movements over a simple brushing gesture, but she did and ultimately they both got her in and out of clothes without her having to figure out how all of the laces and clasps worked so she wasn't going to complain. Niste conjured up full length mirror and moved to Tala's side to get a proper look at it.
"How'd I do?"
"You're right, it would look better with a sword. But I do like it."
Niste pulled her hair back as gently as she could, which wasn't as gently as she thought it was, and began to tie it into a pony tail. It wasn't easy, and it hurt a bit. Tala did not take nearly as good of care of her hair as Niste did, and it was frizzy and tangled. People had always said it had the potential to be extraordinarily pretty if she put some effort in, but Tala just had other things she was more concerned about, like keeping Niste and herself alive. Finally she felt a last few stray hairs being pulled as a fancy jeweled clasp was locked in place at the end of her hair, it barely weighed anything but it still rested against her back and Tala would've never admitted to her sister how uncomfortable she found it.
"There, now you look just like Petra herself, a right swordswoman." Niste was beaming, and Tala wondered if anyone else would have been able to tell how she really felt.
"I'll miss you Niste. Who will protect me from my bad fashion sense and poor hygiene when you aren't around?"
"I'm sure you'll meet a nice man with a good sense of style and class up the wazoo."
"What's a wazoo and why would class be coming out of it?"
"Oh its the sort of small pitcher they put the..."
Niste was interrupted by a knock at the door.
"I'm here to escort Miss Tala to the shuttle. Are you both decent?"
"No, but we're both dressed."
The door opened and a gruff looking gentleman stepped in. He looked to be in his hundred and fifties, judging by the gray of his mutton chops and the tone of his skin. He wore an oblong hat that was as wide at the top as at the brim, but much smaller in between, and a uniform that had been kept clean, decorated with the sort of medals only obtained by getting dirty.
"The name's Coleridge, David Coleridge. But you can call me Chops, or David, or Colonel Coleridge. I even respond to Colonel Mustard sometimes, if I'm not hearing well or the wife's not around. I'll be your Executive Officer, and top adviser."
"I thought I was going to trainin?"
"You are, of a sort, strategic command the old fashioned way, by watching us old hats until you feel ready to pitch in yourself an' what-like."
"You mean, By commandin actual troops?"
"Yes, I believe that was what your father meant when he told me to get you out into the field as soon as possible."
Tala could feel Niste's grip on her cloak tighten. This wasn't what either of them had expected.
Saturday, April 14, 2012
Storm Mage; Chapter One
The way of the warrior, it was said, was to know the peace within thyself. Only through that peace could one hope to weather those without.
Tala was a warrior, no one would question that. But she'd never really felt at peace. Perhaps it was the fact that the Empire had not seen peace in her Grandfather, dead before her birth, or father's combined lifetimes. And mind you that was adding the totals, not counting it based on their reigns as most did. She often reassured herself that this was coincidence, and had nothing to do with her Great-Grandfather's reputation as a selfish brute who had no qualms about ordering the deaths of any imperial family member who would have managed to keep the empire as stable as it supposedly still was. Such a notion was, as her ambitious mother had often put it, preposterous.
Or perhaps it was her family life. After her mother's untimely death, which most of the court would forever insist was an unfortunate hunting accident, she'd been left the responsibility of keeping her younger sister safe. In most families this would have been relatively safe; a stern warning that fire was very hot and making sure they didn't run with scissors, but in Tala's family, that meant killing assassins and exposing plots by jealous relatives, and overzealous off-worlders. In short, she'd learned not to trust anyone, and further still she'd learned the most expeditious manners in which to dispose of anyone or thing that she could no longer justify continuing to allow to exist. Most of the court had learned to stay on her good side, the rest just kept in mind how they'd gotten their job and stayed out of sight. It had made her teenage years rather lonely, and her adult ones more so. But if she wasn't happy, she was at least glad to be alive enough to answer the question. And at the end of the day, that was the important part.
Of course, the skills that had kept her alive had also gotten her noticed by her father. King Than of Gasca was, and this was no exaggeration, one of the most imposing presences in all Nieldic history. He was literally a foot taller than the next tallest Nielda in the Empire, every one of his eight and a half feet covered in markedly defined muscle. He was broad, and wore armor even to fancy parties. And above all else, he valued strength.
Tala was strong, but the family resemblance vanished there. She was short, and not simply compared to her Giant of a father. At five and a half feet, she was the shortest person in the court. Even her younger sister, now sixteen herself, stood at nearly seven foot. She was also slight of build, like a willow in a forest of redwood. Visitors often remarked that she was the most beautiful thing in the palace, but Tala felt that in any less masculine a setting, they'd have felt otherwise. She held only one trait to be attractive about herself; her long, chestnut colored hair. It was her favorite part of herself, Aesthetically speaking, and the only thing she ever paid special attention to. And when her Father had called her into his presence, it was the first thing about her which he noticed.
"Tala, daughter of Gorra, my third wife."
"Yes your majesty." Tala curtsied politely. Not as politely as was probably expected of those entering his presence, but enough to seem an honest mistake.
"The rest of you, leave us. I wish to speak with my daughter." The room emptied quickly. It was not merely his appearance which drove fear into the hearts of the assembled, and Tala had not gotten her ruthless efficiency from her mother.
When the had all gone, Than stepped down from his throne and set his hand on her shoulder. With the other her raised her chin.
"You have your mother's hair, and her skin as well. But I can see you have the fire of a warrior in your eyes, and if my captain is to be believed, you have the ferocity of Tara under five moons."
"I'm sorry sir, I was only seekin to keep my sister safe."
"I see. Then my Captain and his men have not protected you?"
"If they have, I haven't seen it. All due respect."
"I see." Than began to pace in front of her. His face was not the sort that represented anything but anger with real clarity, but she could tell that he was considering the situation carefully. "Tala, I have a proposition for you. I shall send my own men to watch over your sister."
"Thank you sir!"
"And in exchange, you will take up the rightful place of a warrior like yourself. You see, we have many enemies who will not be swayed by reason or a steady hand, and for that we maintain an army. I want you to stand at the head of this army, lead it into battle and show our enemies that we are not to be triffled with. Do these terms seem agreeable to you?"
Tala thought of her time with TacSim, and her years of fighting assassins and the like. She could do it, and it would certainly be to her liking. Than was a man of his word, and she knew he would fulfill his end of the bargain and protect Lysstrelle as well as she had. There was really no reason to say no, not that it had ever truly been an option to begin with.
"It would be my honor, Father."
Tala was a warrior, no one would question that. But she'd never really felt at peace. Perhaps it was the fact that the Empire had not seen peace in her Grandfather, dead before her birth, or father's combined lifetimes. And mind you that was adding the totals, not counting it based on their reigns as most did. She often reassured herself that this was coincidence, and had nothing to do with her Great-Grandfather's reputation as a selfish brute who had no qualms about ordering the deaths of any imperial family member who would have managed to keep the empire as stable as it supposedly still was. Such a notion was, as her ambitious mother had often put it, preposterous.
Or perhaps it was her family life. After her mother's untimely death, which most of the court would forever insist was an unfortunate hunting accident, she'd been left the responsibility of keeping her younger sister safe. In most families this would have been relatively safe; a stern warning that fire was very hot and making sure they didn't run with scissors, but in Tala's family, that meant killing assassins and exposing plots by jealous relatives, and overzealous off-worlders. In short, she'd learned not to trust anyone, and further still she'd learned the most expeditious manners in which to dispose of anyone or thing that she could no longer justify continuing to allow to exist. Most of the court had learned to stay on her good side, the rest just kept in mind how they'd gotten their job and stayed out of sight. It had made her teenage years rather lonely, and her adult ones more so. But if she wasn't happy, she was at least glad to be alive enough to answer the question. And at the end of the day, that was the important part.
Of course, the skills that had kept her alive had also gotten her noticed by her father. King Than of Gasca was, and this was no exaggeration, one of the most imposing presences in all Nieldic history. He was literally a foot taller than the next tallest Nielda in the Empire, every one of his eight and a half feet covered in markedly defined muscle. He was broad, and wore armor even to fancy parties. And above all else, he valued strength.
Tala was strong, but the family resemblance vanished there. She was short, and not simply compared to her Giant of a father. At five and a half feet, she was the shortest person in the court. Even her younger sister, now sixteen herself, stood at nearly seven foot. She was also slight of build, like a willow in a forest of redwood. Visitors often remarked that she was the most beautiful thing in the palace, but Tala felt that in any less masculine a setting, they'd have felt otherwise. She held only one trait to be attractive about herself; her long, chestnut colored hair. It was her favorite part of herself, Aesthetically speaking, and the only thing she ever paid special attention to. And when her Father had called her into his presence, it was the first thing about her which he noticed.
"Tala, daughter of Gorra, my third wife."
"Yes your majesty." Tala curtsied politely. Not as politely as was probably expected of those entering his presence, but enough to seem an honest mistake.
"The rest of you, leave us. I wish to speak with my daughter." The room emptied quickly. It was not merely his appearance which drove fear into the hearts of the assembled, and Tala had not gotten her ruthless efficiency from her mother.
When the had all gone, Than stepped down from his throne and set his hand on her shoulder. With the other her raised her chin.
"You have your mother's hair, and her skin as well. But I can see you have the fire of a warrior in your eyes, and if my captain is to be believed, you have the ferocity of Tara under five moons."
"I'm sorry sir, I was only seekin to keep my sister safe."
"I see. Then my Captain and his men have not protected you?"
"If they have, I haven't seen it. All due respect."
"I see." Than began to pace in front of her. His face was not the sort that represented anything but anger with real clarity, but she could tell that he was considering the situation carefully. "Tala, I have a proposition for you. I shall send my own men to watch over your sister."
"Thank you sir!"
"And in exchange, you will take up the rightful place of a warrior like yourself. You see, we have many enemies who will not be swayed by reason or a steady hand, and for that we maintain an army. I want you to stand at the head of this army, lead it into battle and show our enemies that we are not to be triffled with. Do these terms seem agreeable to you?"
Tala thought of her time with TacSim, and her years of fighting assassins and the like. She could do it, and it would certainly be to her liking. Than was a man of his word, and she knew he would fulfill his end of the bargain and protect Lysstrelle as well as she had. There was really no reason to say no, not that it had ever truly been an option to begin with.
"It would be my honor, Father."
Friday, April 13, 2012
Short Story; Frostfall
The Stone Henges were said to have been set by the Sons of Cain in the days before even the Nielda had begun to travel through the stars. They could be found on every major species' homeworld, save that of the Nielda, and even the homeworlds of most of the less important species. But they were also found on thousands, if not millions of worlds that had been home only to trees, grass, and rodents, who the Sons of Cain may well have brought with them. The first one that the Nielda had found had been on Appeni, known even after the Frostbourne war as a garden world. It had been found by the sage of that world, a woman named Ceanne. But on the records, the first one discovered was found three years later on Decidua, the homeworld of the Ga-Vok.
The first explorers had discovered the greatest property of the stones that very same day. In trying to escape the Ga-Vok, the team's mage had tried to set wards on the stone circle, already a safe point as a result of its location and design. Instead, he managed to trigger the magic already set upon the stones and found that they projected an impenetrable barrier. Thousands of years later, a Gascan princess and general tried to breach one of these barriers, causing incredible damage to the surrounding hillside and permanently altering her own appearance. Her name was Tala, and she always referred to it as one of her only two failures in life.
They had other properties too. While the barrier was active they could generate enough food to satisfy the hunger of their inhabitants. Waste, excrement and otherwise, seemed to magically non-exist within the barrier. And there was always your first choice of beverage on the altar stone. And none of it seemed to be affected by any of the laws that normally governed those sorts of enchantments. There was no power source, save perhaps the stones themselves, and none of it seemed to come from or go too anywhere. Official statements from both top enchanters and scientists, and the military, stated that this was clearly a divine or 'natural' magic.
Of course, this wasn't the first stone circle that Kate Immersfeld had encountered. She'd basically done her dissertation on the matter, and this one defied any of her prior knowledge. The stones were cracked, and the altar was riven. But those were merely physical problems, any team of Imperial Guard relic restoration specialists could have fixed that. The problem was that the magic felt wrong.
Now magic was not generally a natural thing, so its hard to say that it ever felt right. But this was a particular, and she found this part especially bothersome, familiar sort of wrong. She'd felt it on her trip to visit the circle on Anatolia, the whole planet felt like this. The Library at the Arcane Academy felt somewhat like this, but more muddled. It was the way a demon's magic felt. And even on Anatolia the circle had felt, for lack of a better word, shiny. But here it felt rather the way that a black hole behaved, like a puncture in the fabric of whatever it existed in. You felt drawn towards it, but it was also dangerous to get too close.
But if Arcania, for so she called herself, was anything, it was curious.
"ZeeGee, you want to have a look?"
The cold around her coalesced into a sort of man shaped white mist. The Frost King, who's true name she alone knew, would have been more than a match for most any threat that faced them. But Arcania knew that the same could have been said of her, for she had studied magic her whole life, and had the strength and skill to kill nearly anything that they would face.
Including, as she had proven in the past, a demon.
"My lady, I do not believe that would be wise. This presence is powerful beyond anything we have encountered in the past. I do not wish to see you come to harm."
"Oh dear, is it really that powerful?"
"I'm afraid so."
"Then I guess we'll just have to both go." And she climbed over the fallen stone and into the circle proper. ZeeGee fell weirdly silent, although she was aware of his yelling to her. The rest of the world seemed so far away all of a sudden, like it was another plane of existence.
"Good. Good. Just as Legion predicted. I am glad all my years of waiting shall finally pay off."
"Hello Demon. Shall we start by you telling me your name and end with me banishing you from existence?"
"Overconfident, bold, and powerful are three of my favorite traits in an immortal. You have them all. You shall do quite well as the figurehead for my armies."
"And you'll be a fine story to tell my sisters. Are we going to stand her all day or will you just stand there talking like my mother?"
Arcania had been too involved in the banter and she realized it as the first blow came. Not from in front of her, where a shadowy giant stood, but from behind. A tendril of darkness caught her by the leg and flung her against the stones. She lashed out with a flurry of sharp, icy blades, severing the tendril and a dozen like it. She erected a barrier against the rest and incanted a series of wards against demonic assault. But they all fell away as soon as they'd been incanted. The circle's enchantments hadn't just been broken, they'd been inverted! She couldn't get out, she couldn't be protected, and she was starting to feel hungry.
"I like your trap, its very clever."
"Oh do you now? I rather hoped you'd appreciate it, I've put a lot of thought into how I'd bring you under my domination."
Arcania sundered the earth beneath his feet, forcing him to unfurl his vast leathery wings. A hail of her favored frozen flechettes cut through them and she joined them with a wave of raw arcane energy. His wings were left tattered, though still functioning, but he brushed off her magical onslaught with little regard for the effect it would have had on any other manner of being. But that was as she expected for a demon, its main purpose was to occupy the monster's vision while she prepared a ray of light. And as the demon's form showed through the blast, she loosed the pure white ray. It missed the demon's heart, but tore through its abdomen. She could hear its bones splinter as her blast glanced off of them. It howled in pain, but it was not beaten. She found herself barely able to shield herself against the barrage of corrupted bolts that it cast, and as she deflected one beam of devastating power after the next she tripped over another one of the Shadithic tendrils that emanated from the circle itself. The Demon caught her under a press of shadowy power, and the last thing she remembered seeing was the hatred in its eyes and the black blood flowing from the wound she'd dealt it.
The first explorers had discovered the greatest property of the stones that very same day. In trying to escape the Ga-Vok, the team's mage had tried to set wards on the stone circle, already a safe point as a result of its location and design. Instead, he managed to trigger the magic already set upon the stones and found that they projected an impenetrable barrier. Thousands of years later, a Gascan princess and general tried to breach one of these barriers, causing incredible damage to the surrounding hillside and permanently altering her own appearance. Her name was Tala, and she always referred to it as one of her only two failures in life.
They had other properties too. While the barrier was active they could generate enough food to satisfy the hunger of their inhabitants. Waste, excrement and otherwise, seemed to magically non-exist within the barrier. And there was always your first choice of beverage on the altar stone. And none of it seemed to be affected by any of the laws that normally governed those sorts of enchantments. There was no power source, save perhaps the stones themselves, and none of it seemed to come from or go too anywhere. Official statements from both top enchanters and scientists, and the military, stated that this was clearly a divine or 'natural' magic.
Of course, this wasn't the first stone circle that Kate Immersfeld had encountered. She'd basically done her dissertation on the matter, and this one defied any of her prior knowledge. The stones were cracked, and the altar was riven. But those were merely physical problems, any team of Imperial Guard relic restoration specialists could have fixed that. The problem was that the magic felt wrong.
Now magic was not generally a natural thing, so its hard to say that it ever felt right. But this was a particular, and she found this part especially bothersome, familiar sort of wrong. She'd felt it on her trip to visit the circle on Anatolia, the whole planet felt like this. The Library at the Arcane Academy felt somewhat like this, but more muddled. It was the way a demon's magic felt. And even on Anatolia the circle had felt, for lack of a better word, shiny. But here it felt rather the way that a black hole behaved, like a puncture in the fabric of whatever it existed in. You felt drawn towards it, but it was also dangerous to get too close.
But if Arcania, for so she called herself, was anything, it was curious.
"ZeeGee, you want to have a look?"
The cold around her coalesced into a sort of man shaped white mist. The Frost King, who's true name she alone knew, would have been more than a match for most any threat that faced them. But Arcania knew that the same could have been said of her, for she had studied magic her whole life, and had the strength and skill to kill nearly anything that they would face.
Including, as she had proven in the past, a demon.
"My lady, I do not believe that would be wise. This presence is powerful beyond anything we have encountered in the past. I do not wish to see you come to harm."
"Oh dear, is it really that powerful?"
"I'm afraid so."
"Then I guess we'll just have to both go." And she climbed over the fallen stone and into the circle proper. ZeeGee fell weirdly silent, although she was aware of his yelling to her. The rest of the world seemed so far away all of a sudden, like it was another plane of existence.
"Good. Good. Just as Legion predicted. I am glad all my years of waiting shall finally pay off."
"Hello Demon. Shall we start by you telling me your name and end with me banishing you from existence?"
"Overconfident, bold, and powerful are three of my favorite traits in an immortal. You have them all. You shall do quite well as the figurehead for my armies."
"And you'll be a fine story to tell my sisters. Are we going to stand her all day or will you just stand there talking like my mother?"
Arcania had been too involved in the banter and she realized it as the first blow came. Not from in front of her, where a shadowy giant stood, but from behind. A tendril of darkness caught her by the leg and flung her against the stones. She lashed out with a flurry of sharp, icy blades, severing the tendril and a dozen like it. She erected a barrier against the rest and incanted a series of wards against demonic assault. But they all fell away as soon as they'd been incanted. The circle's enchantments hadn't just been broken, they'd been inverted! She couldn't get out, she couldn't be protected, and she was starting to feel hungry.
"I like your trap, its very clever."
"Oh do you now? I rather hoped you'd appreciate it, I've put a lot of thought into how I'd bring you under my domination."
Arcania sundered the earth beneath his feet, forcing him to unfurl his vast leathery wings. A hail of her favored frozen flechettes cut through them and she joined them with a wave of raw arcane energy. His wings were left tattered, though still functioning, but he brushed off her magical onslaught with little regard for the effect it would have had on any other manner of being. But that was as she expected for a demon, its main purpose was to occupy the monster's vision while she prepared a ray of light. And as the demon's form showed through the blast, she loosed the pure white ray. It missed the demon's heart, but tore through its abdomen. She could hear its bones splinter as her blast glanced off of them. It howled in pain, but it was not beaten. She found herself barely able to shield herself against the barrage of corrupted bolts that it cast, and as she deflected one beam of devastating power after the next she tripped over another one of the Shadithic tendrils that emanated from the circle itself. The Demon caught her under a press of shadowy power, and the last thing she remembered seeing was the hatred in its eyes and the black blood flowing from the wound she'd dealt it.
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