Mage Saga: Consumption
The year is 2038. It is a time of recovery and recuperation. Eighteen...
The year is 2038. It is a time of recovery and recuperation. Eighteen...
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Introduction: A Barlowe Blank
Mazrick
Shai'tan
- Location
- The Pit of Doom
Mage Saga: Consumption
The year is 2038. It is a time of recovery and recuperation. Eighteen years after the DAWN OF MAGIC, eight years after the arrival of the ARCHAENS, the world finally begins to stabilize. Half of humanity perished in the tumultuous wake of magic's arrival.
MAGES have imposed a measure of order where there was only chaos. Many of the Old World structures have crumbled and turned to ash. New Corporations and Conglomerates and Countries controlled by these mages have risen to power. Despite frequent and costly INCURSIONS from alien worlds and hostile horrors, a new equilibrium takes hold.
However, in a universe of miracles and magery, in a galaxy of wonder and war, in a world ruled by the merest whims of the mighty, change is inevitable….
"We're here live from Kantyn Island where Senator Barlowe will be publically announcing his candidacy for the presidency later today. Stay tuned for live coverage!" The perfectly cool water reflects the flawless visage of Mischa Aizermann. Equal parts news anchor and celebrity, the blonde mage has taken the news media by storm. Everyone around you, the blank construction workers finishing up the last arrangements for the post-announcement festivities, the mediums attending to the estate's weather control machinery, the low ranking mages serving as security, none of them can take their eyes off of her. Looks of avarice play across their faces.
You feel nothing.
You give an indolent kick through the healing waters. As the so-called sacred waters flow over your skin, the last painful remnant of your latest round of treatment gradually fades away. The translucent, white-blue liquid is denser than normal water, leaving you free to just float on your back and soak up the sun without effort. The comfort, ease, and grand environment is something you're used to. But really, you just feel tired. And it's only 11 AM.
As the TV screen behind the poolside bar cuts to an advertisement, the live camera crew on the opposite side of the pool starts efficiently breaking down their equipment. Mischa Aizermann's large black eyes pass over you like you're a part of the scenery as she heads back towards the isle's manse. A bevy of assistants and crew members flock around her nervously. The rhythmic vibrations of power tools constructing a temporary stage helps lull you to the dreamless oblivion of sleep.
"-t outta the way, Dead End!" An arrogant, youthful voice rips you from your restless sleep. You look around startled. The voice speaks again, louder this time, and you realize it belongs to one of your little brother Simon's cronies. It takes a second for you to register what he's saying, and to actually pin down where he's saying it from. You find the dark-skinned mage standing poolside, looking down upon you. "I said get outta the fuckin' way! Guess you're as stupid as you are useless." His voice cracks on that, the early stages of puberty making themselves known. "Mr. Barlowe has to be hoping for the sympathy vote, keeping you around where you get in the way!"
"Lay off, Vybrock." Simon says as he and the rest of his gang of mage youths arrive. Confident, authoritative, and already a handsome youth, it's not hard to see why this youngest generation of mages gravitate around him. Already, the adolescent boy is taller than you. All the boys are. Even some of the girls can match your meager height. They shy away as your brother flares out his aura. You can't see the hallmark of a mage, but you can feel it, and familiarity has ingrained recognition bone deep. Everything feels heavy, like you're twenty meters underwater. Breathing is hard. Menace and malice linger in the air. A clear promise. This too you're used to. "You stupid or just got a death wish? A Vybrock thinks it's alright to insult a Barlowe? Over my dead body."
"Be careful what you wish for." He's clearly on edge after your brother's threat, but as expected of an idiot tween used to getting his way, he won't back down.
As Antoine Vybrock unleashes his aura, it hits you like a sucker punch to the gut. Not as overwhelming as your brother's, but you've only felt this presence once before. Where your brother invokes a familiar sense of dread, this is taking a pair of scissors to a freshly mended wound. And he's not holding back, either. You're pretty sure the only reason some of your smaller bones don't break is the water around you. The temptation to gently slip under the waves is overwhelming, a deep part of you still refuses to give him the satisfaction.
Have you not stood before your mother when she was full of rage and wrath? You may just be a blank, a person without even the slightest manifestation of magic, but even the strongest mages quell before her fury. A pair of neophytes posturing at one another will not break you. They will not!
The auras clash, and you know the boys are only moments from coming to blows. The air crackles visibly. You can see that much. Your mouth is dry. Your skin itches like it belongs to someone else. Clearing your parched throat takes a physical effort. "It's alright Sy. I was just about to head inside anyways. Have to get ready for the party tonight after all." You force a chuckle out. "Don't get worked up on my account."
Speaking taxes your exhausted mind, but not doing anything here and now would be irresponsible. Blank or not, you're the adult here. The security detail will surely step in before things get too serious—that's one of their jobs. But… they tend to underestimate the frailness of the 'magically impaired'. You've learned that through painful experience. If these two boys get into a fight, well, you might have another trip to Doctor Medheave's ward much sooner than you anticipated.
Though the weather is controlled by a very expensive prototype, the sun seems unbearably hot.
Moments more of tension. The boys are still glaring daggers at each other. Both boys are prideful and they have their backs up. Your words have never reached Simon, and you may as well be a particularly annoying bug to Antoine Vybrock. This is the preliminary stage before a mage battle. You've read about it, and seen it too many times for your liking. They're gauging each other, testing their opponent's aura. For experienced mages, this occurs far too fast for a blank to comprehend.
Already, they're waging battle before moving even an inch. You grit your teeth and swim to the edge of the pool. Like swimming through packed gravel. Takes a long time. It is a big pool after all. Dripping wet, you manage to haul yourself up, and interpose yourself between the brash little shits. Both of them seem to hesitate for half a heartbeat as you obstruct their view of one another.
Standing in between the two mages, you suddenly feel the full weight of their threat. Idiot. Weakling. Blank. Either of the mages could snap you in two as easily as you step on an ant. Doesn't matter that they're kids or that you're a Barlowe. Dread certainty turns your blood to ice. They'll kill you by accident. Can't breathe. Muscles won't even twitch. Falling to your knees. Everything begins to blur...
Then the pressure is gone.
You're on the ground, sweating and shivering. To either side, armored mages have professionally subdued the fractious youths. Dangerous weapons remained sheathed as they loom over the prepubescent mages. The group of children look petulant and abashed. Both Simon and Antoine are noticeably absent.
"Sir," Ben Grimes, one of your family's oldest and most trusted guards, extends a hand. His demeanor, from the neatly groomed hair to the flawless black suit, is utterly professional. That suit is more heavily enchanted than the armor of his subordinates. He continues, "it may be prudent to retire to your rooms."
You take the proffered hand. "Of course."
He helps you to your feet, and you wipe vomit from your mouth with the clammy back of your hand. You start make your way to your suite, not without difficulty. Feet heavy. Throat still burning with acid. You do your best to ignore the looks of the growing crowd of people flowing through the estate as the palatial surroundings pass by around you. To top it all off, your door won't open. Oh, right. Security measures. Put your hand on the pad. Say your name. Look in the mirror.
What is your name?
[] Ronald Jr. - Named after your father
[] Terence - Named after your maternal grandfather
[] Samuel - Named after a mutual friend
Who do you resemble?
[] Take after your father. Blonde with blue eyes. Considered handsome.
[] Take after your mother. Brown hair with green eyes. Considered severe.
[] A mix between the two. Blonde with green eyes. Hawkish nose. Strong jaw.
A proper set of clothes have been laid out for you for the announcement this evening. You can add one accessory of your own to the ensemble. Which do you choose?
[] A US Flag Pin, to match the one your father will be wearing.
[] A watch with the logo for Daedalus Industries, where your mother is a high ranking executive.
[] A wristband with the insignia of All Created Equal, a blank rights group.
[] Nothing. It's perfect as is. You're not one to stand out.
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Character Sheet
Broad Classification: Blank, Medium, and Mage
Mazrick
Shai'tan
- Location
- The Pit of Doom
Broadly speaking, there is a large magical spectrum upon which humans exist. This spectrum is divvied up into three stable categories: Blanks, Mediums, and Mages.
Blanks have no magical senses, no magical presence, and no ability to directly manipulate magic. However, there are certain magical items that use external arcane sources of energy. They can use these just fine. Additionally, Blanks are resistant to raw magic poisoning... which is why they are alive at all. The vast majority of casualties after the emergence of magic died due to this effect. As an aside, blanks are sometimes able to operate where magic-wielders can't due to their lack of magical senses. These individuals make up 90% of the population.
Mediums are individuals born with magical senses, magical presence, and a limited ability to manipulate their own magic. Basically, they are Mages born with a limited supply of magic. Once they expend their inborn magic, it is gone. It does not regenerate. However, they are more than capable of producing magical items and such due to their magical senses and the lack of a sometimes problematic aura. They do require an external source to power all items. Currently, these individuals make up around 10% of the world population.
Mages are the elite. Born with regenerating 'wells' of power, they grow stronger the more they tap into their well. This escalation is not limitless. The raw potential of a given mage can be determined at a young age. Further, their auras can be used to power certain magical items and fabrications, however this aura, when not skillfully and meticulously controlled, can hamper the creation of magical devices. There are less than two million mages in this world!
Thanks for the question @Wolfy !
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Uncle Terry: The Barlowe Babysitter
Mazrick
Shai'tan
- Location
- The Pit of Doom
bzzt. Bzzzt. BZZZT.
You groan and roll over as your alarm shocks you back to consciousness. You don't remember setting an alarm. You don't remember falling asleep. The bed is comfortable. The bleary oblivion of a dreamless sleep clings to you. Same as always. At least you've never had to worry about nightmares.
The sheets are hand woven from the remains of an alien beast, slain by your eldest sister at her first Incursion. Like sleeping on air. As your cell phone continues to saw through your skull, you reach out and silence it. A quick look at the screen shows it's only been 45 minutes since you left the poolside. That may not mean much to most, but 45 minutes of continuous sleep is damn good for you.
Fifteen minutes to get dressed and down to the party. So tired. Easy to roll over and try to go back to sleep. Your family would understand. They probably expect you to be late or miss the festivities altogether. 'Terry has a condition, the poor dear.' 'Take it easy, son. Don't push yourself.'
The only people in your life who don't treat you like you're going to keel over and die in the next moment are your classmates at university. Honestly, you can't wait until Spring Break is over and you can get back to finishing your degree. Only half a semester left.
Regulate your breathing. Concentrate. Don't give in. No excuses.
With a beleaguered sigh, you sit up, and quickly get ready. Brush your teeth. Shave your five o'clock shadow. Inspect your reflection. Blue eyes stare back at you from a masculine face. Handsome. Were you a foot taller and twice as wide across, you'd be the spitting image of your father. Still, even powerful mages and mediums envy your good looks. That's something they don't dare to trifle with. Apparently, altering one's self with magic can have serious and unexpected side effects. You shrug into your crisp white dress shirt. Not that you'd know.
After you've dressed in the proper attire, buttoned the American Flag lapel pin onto your black dinner jacket as your father suggested, and given yourself a cursory once over, you make your way through the wide halls of your family's estate.
People are everywhere. Blank servants in black and white carry trays of hors d'oeuvres and drinks. They don't meet anyone's eyes, not even yours, as they go about their business. Men in immaculate suits and women in stunning dresses mingle politely. Rich classical music from a full orchestra sounds from the main dining hall. The who's who of the ruling class are here. The Heavyweight World Champion Rodrigo Fernandez rubs shoulders with the pop singer Athena. Next to the pugilist and the diva, a pair of familiar looking lawyers, one with a wrinkled bald head, the younger protégé oozing sleazy affectation. They converse with a senator from Utah and a Hollywood studio exec.
Spheres of heatless magelight float like miniature suns. The glow grows more powerful and majestic as the constructs absorb and siphon off aura from the mansion's inhabitants—if some of the notables here were to let loose like your little brother did earlier, they'd wind up starting quite the blaze.
The soiree is like Tolkien rewrote Gatsby. Well, you get what you pay for. It's no surprise with Daedalus Industries, the largest and most powerful magicorporation in the entire world, is bankrolling the whole affair. Thanks to your mother's highly confidential work for them, you own a fair chunk of stock in the company—uncommon for a blank, to say the least—so one could say that you're helping to throw the party as well!
You move through the familiar corridors politely nodding and shaking hands as you go. These people wouldn't give the average blank the time of day, but they seek your company. Behind fake smiles and hollow laughs, you catch measuring glances and calculated silences. You are not average. Your name and your blood makes that so. The name Barlowe is almost a magic spell in and of itself. Surely, they see the 'Blank Barlowe' as a path to your more powerful and influential family members. How wrong they are. Your family would chew them up and spit them out!
You catch sight of the Barlowe Clan gathered in the central hall. A large stage and a single podium dominates one end of the massive room. Before the podium two dozen cameras are being put in place by camera crews.
Only a scant few minutes before your father gives his speech, you approach your family. You raise an eyebrow as you see everyone is here. All the kids. Even Richard descended from his ivory tower in literal orbit. You shoot your sister Tala a triumphant look. You'll have to collect from her later. Knew he would be here for dad. And of course, Samantha and Carmen took leave from their work at the Archaean embassy. Your younger siblings Tala, Laureline, and Simon are here, too. They are all trying to look like they're too cool for the 'geriatric snoozefest'.
Mother's usually cold and severe demeanor cracks as she catches sight of you. A genuine smile lights up her middle-aged features. "Terrence, I was-"
"Uncle Terry!" Little Emma vaults into your arms, and you catch her with a strangled gasp. Richard's daughter, your favorite little girl in the entire world, doesn't know her own strength. She looks up at you with a wide smile, which turns cutely serious. "Aunty Carmen said you beat up Simon?"
The three other third generation Barlowes descend on you with questions. You're their favorite uncle, their favorite family member altogether. They even seem to prefer your company over their own parents. Doctor Medheave says it has to do with your combination of sharing strong blood ties, lacking a threatening aura, and the children being too young to be prejudiced against blanks. It comforts them somehow. You don't care. Even if it leaves you on the edge of passing out from overexertion it's just good to be looked up to.
So, as your parents and siblings talk about weighty matters of politics and magic, matters they don't care to hear your opinion on, you assume your usual role as babysitter.
Solemn Uruthal asks about Harvard. He wants to go there one day. You tell him he'll have work hard. Timid, Bethany, Carmen's young daughter, just plays with her doll Sally, and you give her a bright smile. She smiles back shyly. From your other side, the always smiling Iris chirps about her visit to Paris, and whispers about seeing ghosts from the Shattered Isle in her closet. You shake your head and correct her firmly. There are no ghosts in what's left of Great Britain. It's much worse than that! She squeals in delighted dread. She doesn't remember the time when those supposed ghosts were millions of living humans, doesn't feel a pit in her stomach when she thinks about it. All a ghastly story to her.
But, time with the kids isn't the only thing you have to contend with. Soon, after your father's speech, you'll have to contend with questions about your impending internship and needling about your date. Speaking of which… she should be arriving any time now.
Choices:
Internship. This will certainly affect your take on the world and what you've focused on in your education. Your connections can open doors for you!
[] The One Humanity Initiative - A non-profit with the goal of easing tensions between the magic-less majority and the magic-wielding minority, and maximizing the benefits everyone might receive from magic. You feel that you're uniquely positioned to help find solutions to bridge these two ever-diverging worlds.
[] Congressional Office of Representative Tom Seaver - A friend and colleague of your father's, you've landed a prestigious internship at his office. You respect and revere the man and the work he does. He might just be your father's running mate. Plus, it doesn't get better as a starting point for a political career, and politics is a place where a blank still might reach the top.
[X] Daedalus Industries - You may not be able to contribute to the cutting edge magical research done there, but you can certainly find lots of opportunities for advancement working there as an Administrative Assistant. You'd be somewhere directly down the chain from your mother, working on… whatever it is that she does there. The specifics would be above your paygrade, at least to start.
Relationship:
[] Megan - A blank from a much less well-to-do family, you met her at one of your school's charity events. Smart, loyal and willing to put up with all of your constant medical BS, she's nearly a saint. She's currently a first year law student with top marks. Even coming from a family of overachievers, you're still blown away by her work ethic.
[] Cilia - A medium, employed as a researcher at Daedalus, and rising up the ranks quickly. You met while she was poking and prodding at you. Every test she could think of came back blank, and that captured her attention. You managed to keep it. Although she puts the bulk of her efforts into her research, she's never once let you down when you've really needed her.
[X] Anne - A skilled and respected mage working as an Incursion First Responder, she was a passionate supporter at one of your father's senatorial campaign rallies. There was instant chemistry. You fight often and hard, but never for long, and making up afterwards is always highly cathartic.
You groan and roll over as your alarm shocks you back to consciousness. You don't remember setting an alarm. You don't remember falling asleep. The bed is comfortable. The bleary oblivion of a dreamless sleep clings to you. Same as always. At least you've never had to worry about nightmares.
The sheets are hand woven from the remains of an alien beast, slain by your eldest sister at her first Incursion. Like sleeping on air. As your cell phone continues to saw through your skull, you reach out and silence it. A quick look at the screen shows it's only been 45 minutes since you left the poolside. That may not mean much to most, but 45 minutes of continuous sleep is damn good for you.
Fifteen minutes to get dressed and down to the party. So tired. Easy to roll over and try to go back to sleep. Your family would understand. They probably expect you to be late or miss the festivities altogether. 'Terry has a condition, the poor dear.' 'Take it easy, son. Don't push yourself.'
The only people in your life who don't treat you like you're going to keel over and die in the next moment are your classmates at university. Honestly, you can't wait until Spring Break is over and you can get back to finishing your degree. Only half a semester left.
Regulate your breathing. Concentrate. Don't give in. No excuses.
With a beleaguered sigh, you sit up, and quickly get ready. Brush your teeth. Shave your five o'clock shadow. Inspect your reflection. Blue eyes stare back at you from a masculine face. Handsome. Were you a foot taller and twice as wide across, you'd be the spitting image of your father. Still, even powerful mages and mediums envy your good looks. That's something they don't dare to trifle with. Apparently, altering one's self with magic can have serious and unexpected side effects. You shrug into your crisp white dress shirt. Not that you'd know.
After you've dressed in the proper attire, buttoned the American Flag lapel pin onto your black dinner jacket as your father suggested, and given yourself a cursory once over, you make your way through the wide halls of your family's estate.
People are everywhere. Blank servants in black and white carry trays of hors d'oeuvres and drinks. They don't meet anyone's eyes, not even yours, as they go about their business. Men in immaculate suits and women in stunning dresses mingle politely. Rich classical music from a full orchestra sounds from the main dining hall. The who's who of the ruling class are here. The Heavyweight World Champion Rodrigo Fernandez rubs shoulders with the pop singer Athena. Next to the pugilist and the diva, a pair of familiar looking lawyers, one with a wrinkled bald head, the younger protégé oozing sleazy affectation. They converse with a senator from Utah and a Hollywood studio exec.
Spheres of heatless magelight float like miniature suns. The glow grows more powerful and majestic as the constructs absorb and siphon off aura from the mansion's inhabitants—if some of the notables here were to let loose like your little brother did earlier, they'd wind up starting quite the blaze.
The soiree is like Tolkien rewrote Gatsby. Well, you get what you pay for. It's no surprise with Daedalus Industries, the largest and most powerful magicorporation in the entire world, is bankrolling the whole affair. Thanks to your mother's highly confidential work for them, you own a fair chunk of stock in the company—uncommon for a blank, to say the least—so one could say that you're helping to throw the party as well!
You move through the familiar corridors politely nodding and shaking hands as you go. These people wouldn't give the average blank the time of day, but they seek your company. Behind fake smiles and hollow laughs, you catch measuring glances and calculated silences. You are not average. Your name and your blood makes that so. The name Barlowe is almost a magic spell in and of itself. Surely, they see the 'Blank Barlowe' as a path to your more powerful and influential family members. How wrong they are. Your family would chew them up and spit them out!
You catch sight of the Barlowe Clan gathered in the central hall. A large stage and a single podium dominates one end of the massive room. Before the podium two dozen cameras are being put in place by camera crews.
Only a scant few minutes before your father gives his speech, you approach your family. You raise an eyebrow as you see everyone is here. All the kids. Even Richard descended from his ivory tower in literal orbit. You shoot your sister Tala a triumphant look. You'll have to collect from her later. Knew he would be here for dad. And of course, Samantha and Carmen took leave from their work at the Archaean embassy. Your younger siblings Tala, Laureline, and Simon are here, too. They are all trying to look like they're too cool for the 'geriatric snoozefest'.
Mother's usually cold and severe demeanor cracks as she catches sight of you. A genuine smile lights up her middle-aged features. "Terrence, I was-"
"Uncle Terry!" Little Emma vaults into your arms, and you catch her with a strangled gasp. Richard's daughter, your favorite little girl in the entire world, doesn't know her own strength. She looks up at you with a wide smile, which turns cutely serious. "Aunty Carmen said you beat up Simon?"
The three other third generation Barlowes descend on you with questions. You're their favorite uncle, their favorite family member altogether. They even seem to prefer your company over their own parents. Doctor Medheave says it has to do with your combination of sharing strong blood ties, lacking a threatening aura, and the children being too young to be prejudiced against blanks. It comforts them somehow. You don't care. Even if it leaves you on the edge of passing out from overexertion it's just good to be looked up to.
So, as your parents and siblings talk about weighty matters of politics and magic, matters they don't care to hear your opinion on, you assume your usual role as babysitter.
Solemn Uruthal asks about Harvard. He wants to go there one day. You tell him he'll have work hard. Timid, Bethany, Carmen's young daughter, just plays with her doll Sally, and you give her a bright smile. She smiles back shyly. From your other side, the always smiling Iris chirps about her visit to Paris, and whispers about seeing ghosts from the Shattered Isle in her closet. You shake your head and correct her firmly. There are no ghosts in what's left of Great Britain. It's much worse than that! She squeals in delighted dread. She doesn't remember the time when those supposed ghosts were millions of living humans, doesn't feel a pit in her stomach when she thinks about it. All a ghastly story to her.
But, time with the kids isn't the only thing you have to contend with. Soon, after your father's speech, you'll have to contend with questions about your impending internship and needling about your date. Speaking of which… she should be arriving any time now.
Choices:
Internship. This will certainly affect your take on the world and what you've focused on in your education. Your connections can open doors for you!
[] The One Humanity Initiative - A non-profit with the goal of easing tensions between the magic-less majority and the magic-wielding minority, and maximizing the benefits everyone might receive from magic. You feel that you're uniquely positioned to help find solutions to bridge these two ever-diverging worlds.
[] Congressional Office of Representative Tom Seaver - A friend and colleague of your father's, you've landed a prestigious internship at his office. You respect and revere the man and the work he does. He might just be your father's running mate. Plus, it doesn't get better as a starting point for a political career, and politics is a place where a blank still might reach the top.
[X] Daedalus Industries - You may not be able to contribute to the cutting edge magical research done there, but you can certainly find lots of opportunities for advancement working there as an Administrative Assistant. You'd be somewhere directly down the chain from your mother, working on… whatever it is that she does there. The specifics would be above your paygrade, at least to start.
Relationship:
[] Megan - A blank from a much less well-to-do family, you met her at one of your school's charity events. Smart, loyal and willing to put up with all of your constant medical BS, she's nearly a saint. She's currently a first year law student with top marks. Even coming from a family of overachievers, you're still blown away by her work ethic.
[] Cilia - A medium, employed as a researcher at Daedalus, and rising up the ranks quickly. You met while she was poking and prodding at you. Every test she could think of came back blank, and that captured her attention. You managed to keep it. Although she puts the bulk of her efforts into her research, she's never once let you down when you've really needed her.
[X] Anne - A skilled and respected mage working as an Incursion First Responder, she was a passionate supporter at one of your father's senatorial campaign rallies. There was instant chemistry. You fight often and hard, but never for long, and making up afterwards is always highly cathartic.
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Rating the Classifications
Mazrick
Shai'tan
- Location
- The Pit of Doom
To keep down the sheer volume of exposition and info dumps in the story proper, and to encourage discussion, here's a bit of pertinent information--the three different 'classes'--regarding the three most prevalent classifications of humans in our story! (Do keep in mind this is limited to the IC knowledge of one Terry Barlowe! 
)
Mages are identified in utero. Except for very rare and extenuating cases, they can only be carried to term by a mage mother. Shortly after birth, their overall magical potential is identified. At that point they are assigned a ranking of E through S. More on that later, but suffice to say the difference between an E rank mage and a S rank mage is staggering. The lower echelon might be reasonably overcome by a properly equipped squad of soldiers; the mere ten or so S rankers living are considered WMDs on a massive scale. Mostly, these individuals are considered above the laws of nations and man. Still, this potential is not reached right away. It takes years and years of 'exercising' an individual's magical well and simultaneously developing control to reach their limits. For example, Anne is a 'C-Rank' mage who just might scratch B-rank if she fully realizes her potential. Currently, it would take the coordinated effort of a full battalion with air support to put her down.
Mediums are likewise identified while gestating. They are only separated from mages when they have used up the fullness of their well and it does not regenerate. Unlike mages, mediums are not ranked based on raw power. They receive dual ratings from 1 to 100 based on the qualities of their senses and the deftness of their magical manipulations. There is no way to test a medium's potential, and a medium might sharpen either skill as they progress in their career. The higher their ratings, the more valued they are. Despite her young age, Cilia is rated 85 / 90. This means she's qualified to work on all but the most extreme and delicate of devices.
Blanks are identified by their lack of magical signature, but they too have a spectrum. The vast majority of Blanks are normal humans who are simply sufficiently resistant to magic that they can live without issue outside of places of high magical density. Places like Incursion Points, where magical density spikes significantly, will quickly kill them. Megan falls here. Then there are more extreme levels of 'blank-ness'. Some are highly resistant, if not outright immune, to direct magical effects. Then there are the extreme outliers known as 'Blind Spots'. They are about as rare as S-rank mages, but instead of wielding reality altering power, they exude auras of 'anti-magic'. Inside this area, 'normal physics' apply.
Beyond that, there are the aberrations... but they are both unstable, extremely rare, sterile, and their abilities defy categorization. Little is known to the public about them.
)Mages are identified in utero. Except for very rare and extenuating cases, they can only be carried to term by a mage mother. Shortly after birth, their overall magical potential is identified. At that point they are assigned a ranking of E through S. More on that later, but suffice to say the difference between an E rank mage and a S rank mage is staggering. The lower echelon might be reasonably overcome by a properly equipped squad of soldiers; the mere ten or so S rankers living are considered WMDs on a massive scale. Mostly, these individuals are considered above the laws of nations and man. Still, this potential is not reached right away. It takes years and years of 'exercising' an individual's magical well and simultaneously developing control to reach their limits. For example, Anne is a 'C-Rank' mage who just might scratch B-rank if she fully realizes her potential. Currently, it would take the coordinated effort of a full battalion with air support to put her down.
Mediums are likewise identified while gestating. They are only separated from mages when they have used up the fullness of their well and it does not regenerate. Unlike mages, mediums are not ranked based on raw power. They receive dual ratings from 1 to 100 based on the qualities of their senses and the deftness of their magical manipulations. There is no way to test a medium's potential, and a medium might sharpen either skill as they progress in their career. The higher their ratings, the more valued they are. Despite her young age, Cilia is rated 85 / 90. This means she's qualified to work on all but the most extreme and delicate of devices.
Blanks are identified by their lack of magical signature, but they too have a spectrum. The vast majority of Blanks are normal humans who are simply sufficiently resistant to magic that they can live without issue outside of places of high magical density. Places like Incursion Points, where magical density spikes significantly, will quickly kill them. Megan falls here. Then there are more extreme levels of 'blank-ness'. Some are highly resistant, if not outright immune, to direct magical effects. Then there are the extreme outliers known as 'Blind Spots'. They are about as rare as S-rank mages, but instead of wielding reality altering power, they exude auras of 'anti-magic'. Inside this area, 'normal physics' apply.
Beyond that, there are the aberrations... but they are both unstable, extremely rare, sterile, and their abilities defy categorization. Little is known to the public about them.
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A Traveler and Two Guardians
Mazrick
Shai'tan
- Location
- The Pit of Doom
You look after your nieces and nephew for a few more minutes. Uruthal grumbles that he's bored. You agree, but you don't let on. This whole thing must be doubly tedious for a growing boy. Truthfully, right now you'd like nothing more than to find a nice chair and take a nap. Par for the course, but you stick with it and play the responsible adult. Just a little while longer, and then there's a special bouncy house for all the kids at the party. That makes all of the small ones twitter with excitement.
However, your attention is swallowed up by the arrival of one Anne Thompson. You stop mid-sentence and stare gobsmacked at your girlfriend's appearance.
She arrived earlier today with a train of luggage in tow--several days later than originally planned, but such is travel these days-- and she's been cloistered in her allotted guest room since before dawn. Now you see what she was spending her time on.
Her long ebony hair is elaborately curled into ringlets. Twin sapphire earrings catch the light just so as her locks cascade over her shoulders and down her exposed back. The dress. You're not one for fashion, but even you can discern its quality. Must have cost her a fortune. The silver fabric shimmers with her every step. Your mouth is dry. You lick your lips and clear your throat. Eye shadow makes her eyes seem larger than normal. Blush makes her tanned cheeks rosy. Her thin lips look full. No sign of the scars that usually mark her features. Using enchanted makeup? On her salary? Enchanted cosmetics are expensive. Sure, she makes tons of money by normal standards, but most of her income goes to buying extra-market gear, fortifying her flat, and paying for extensive combat training from the best trainers money can buy. The Incursion Response Team provides all those things, but Anne goes the extra mile… with everything. Restraint isn't really her thing.
You force your mouth closed with an audible click.
Usually, Anne pulls her hair up into a tight bun, and when not in the uniform of the IRT, she prefers casual clothing. T-shirt, jeans, and sneakers. This… this is not casual. You take a second, appreciative look. The woman is fit and trim, and only three inches taller than you. Some would say she's plain looking. Other, nastier folks, might say she's too masculine with a strong jaw and a sharp nose and too many muscles. Not you. She's far too fierce to be plain. And she's all woman.
You meet her dark eyes. That look. In the 18 months you've been with her, you've seen that look on numerous occasions. Now, all the makeup and the finery makes sense. She's nervous and self-conscious and prepared for battle.
Smart girl. This is the first time she's meeting your entire family. They are… fiercely protective of you. Maybe she should've worn her battle kit and brought extra armor for good measure!
You put down Emma, absently ruffle her hair, and walk to greet your girlfriend.
"Hey, babe." You say with a silly smile. "You're a vision."
She simply responds by giving you a brief kiss. As you break, she says, "You clean up pretty well yourself, handsome."
Under your touch, you can feel how tense she is. Her comrades tell stories of her courage under fire and her heroic actions. She's terrified. You kiss her again, and whisper into her ear. "Don't worry. They don't bite." If only that were the worst they could do.
She chuckles hollowly. A touch of the tension leaves her well-muscled frame though, and she allows you to steer her towards your family.
"Folks, this is my girlfriend, Anne Thompson." You gesture to Anne, and then to your family, "Anne, this is my family. You know my mom and dad, but this is the entire Barlowe Clan in all its glory!" You say the last with a good natured smirk.
There's a momentary, but meaningful, pause. Your family eyes the newcomer with sharp, almost predatory attention. Anyone who could potentially attach themselves to the family receives similar scrutiny. Nick and Austin, your sisters' husbands were heavily vetted, and the marriages had been all but arranged by your mother. You meet your mother's green stare. She's wearing a seemingly pleasant and welcoming smile, yet she played no part in your current relationship...
"Hello Anne, dear," mother is the first to speak. Her fake smile is full on her lips as she tucks a grey hair behind her ear. It's a good front. You only see through it because you've had years of dealing with the Barlowe matriarch. "We've missed you. I hope your trip wasn't difficult."
From anyone else, that would sound like a pleasant and banal greeting. It is not. From the foremost teleportation mage in the world? It takes on a new meaning. Maybe several. Perhaps, it alludes to Anne's relatively meager funds and social standing. She can't afford to pay the exorbitant rate required to activate one of mother's teleport rings. It could be a condemnation of her prideful rejection of free passage. Or it could be a rebuke on her relative weakness, that the beasts and the terrible weather that waylay travelers in this day and age were able to so inconvenience her. Most people would scoff at the idea that so much meaning and scorn could be packed into a simple greeting, but your mother wields her words the same way she wields her spells, her money, and her family.
The whole thing is exhausting.
"Good morning, Mrs. Barlowe." Anne responds with a smile. She gives no sign of picking up on your mother's game. "The trip wasn't too bad. Unexpected hurricane grounded us for a day. A firestorm broke out over a new Incursion point. We had to fly around a pack of Sky Hunters, but the captain was a real professional. Nothing we couldn't handle. At least, all the documents were in order so the various inspections didn't take too long."
"Oh, good to hear that the bureaucrats are still making life difficult. Whatever would we do without them." Mother responds shortly. She has no patience for bureaucrats and other mid-level functionaries. Despite having married a military man, she doesn't have much patience for soldiers either. Actually, outside of her family and her boss, you're not sure she really likes anybody.
"Vanessa, Anne must be tired. At least wait until after dinner to give her the third degree." Father chuckles goodnaturedly. He lays his remaining hand on his wife's. His blue eyes, so like your own, are filled with gentle resolve. He turns to your date. "It's good to see you, lieutenant. I hope we can speak later. I'm very interested in how things are going at the tip of the spear."
She stands up ramrod straight and very nearly snaps a salute. "Yes, sir."
Then there's a group photo. All the Barlowes and their significant others are in it. This is the first time your family's been together in, well, you don't think everyone here has ever been all together. Anne tries to step aside, but you're having none of that.
Finally, it's time for your father's announcement speech. A young latino woman, a blank who volunteers at several orphanages, gets up and introduces herself. She is Daniella Reyes, and she is one of the survivors of the Washington Incursion. She tears up when she speaks of how Ronald Barlowe saved the city by destroying the Gate there, how he personally saved both her and her brother.
He takes the stage to thunderous applause. And he looks directly at the cameras. "I am Ronald Barlowe. I am running for president. This isn't about my family or I. These are troubled times. Here, now, we face challenges unlike anything in the history of mankind. I promise to pursue an agenda of equality for the disadvantaged, a policy of distributing the wonders of magic so that everyone can benefit, and aggressive, extensive resistance against the forces that invade and encroach upon our world. With all of your support, we will win!"
His speech continues, but it's nothing you haven't heard before. It's his usual stump speech with a few caveats. Still, you can't help but be impressed by your father's charisma. Every eye is on him, and he looks like a president should look! He commands their attention by sheer will power.
You are exhausted. But, you won't pass up the opportunity to see your family. Who knows when you'll see them all next! Two of your elder siblings will be leaving very shortly, so who do you decide to speak with?
[] Go talk to Richard. A widower. He resides in the experimental space colony with other elites of Mage society. There he conducts magical research above and beyond what most imagine to be possible. You haven't seen him since his wife's funeral. His daughter Emma, who's being raised by your own parents, is like a daughter to you.
[] Go talk to Samantha. Happily married with a pair of kids. She helped raise you and your siblings while your parents were enmeshed in the wars of the Decade of Madness. Now, she's the ambassador to the Archaens at the embassy on their home planet. You haven't seen her since she received her posting.
However, your attention is swallowed up by the arrival of one Anne Thompson. You stop mid-sentence and stare gobsmacked at your girlfriend's appearance.
She arrived earlier today with a train of luggage in tow--several days later than originally planned, but such is travel these days-- and she's been cloistered in her allotted guest room since before dawn. Now you see what she was spending her time on.
Her long ebony hair is elaborately curled into ringlets. Twin sapphire earrings catch the light just so as her locks cascade over her shoulders and down her exposed back. The dress. You're not one for fashion, but even you can discern its quality. Must have cost her a fortune. The silver fabric shimmers with her every step. Your mouth is dry. You lick your lips and clear your throat. Eye shadow makes her eyes seem larger than normal. Blush makes her tanned cheeks rosy. Her thin lips look full. No sign of the scars that usually mark her features. Using enchanted makeup? On her salary? Enchanted cosmetics are expensive. Sure, she makes tons of money by normal standards, but most of her income goes to buying extra-market gear, fortifying her flat, and paying for extensive combat training from the best trainers money can buy. The Incursion Response Team provides all those things, but Anne goes the extra mile… with everything. Restraint isn't really her thing.
You force your mouth closed with an audible click.
Usually, Anne pulls her hair up into a tight bun, and when not in the uniform of the IRT, she prefers casual clothing. T-shirt, jeans, and sneakers. This… this is not casual. You take a second, appreciative look. The woman is fit and trim, and only three inches taller than you. Some would say she's plain looking. Other, nastier folks, might say she's too masculine with a strong jaw and a sharp nose and too many muscles. Not you. She's far too fierce to be plain. And she's all woman.
You meet her dark eyes. That look. In the 18 months you've been with her, you've seen that look on numerous occasions. Now, all the makeup and the finery makes sense. She's nervous and self-conscious and prepared for battle.
Smart girl. This is the first time she's meeting your entire family. They are… fiercely protective of you. Maybe she should've worn her battle kit and brought extra armor for good measure!
You put down Emma, absently ruffle her hair, and walk to greet your girlfriend.
"Hey, babe." You say with a silly smile. "You're a vision."
She simply responds by giving you a brief kiss. As you break, she says, "You clean up pretty well yourself, handsome."
Under your touch, you can feel how tense she is. Her comrades tell stories of her courage under fire and her heroic actions. She's terrified. You kiss her again, and whisper into her ear. "Don't worry. They don't bite." If only that were the worst they could do.
She chuckles hollowly. A touch of the tension leaves her well-muscled frame though, and she allows you to steer her towards your family.
"Folks, this is my girlfriend, Anne Thompson." You gesture to Anne, and then to your family, "Anne, this is my family. You know my mom and dad, but this is the entire Barlowe Clan in all its glory!" You say the last with a good natured smirk.
There's a momentary, but meaningful, pause. Your family eyes the newcomer with sharp, almost predatory attention. Anyone who could potentially attach themselves to the family receives similar scrutiny. Nick and Austin, your sisters' husbands were heavily vetted, and the marriages had been all but arranged by your mother. You meet your mother's green stare. She's wearing a seemingly pleasant and welcoming smile, yet she played no part in your current relationship...
"Hello Anne, dear," mother is the first to speak. Her fake smile is full on her lips as she tucks a grey hair behind her ear. It's a good front. You only see through it because you've had years of dealing with the Barlowe matriarch. "We've missed you. I hope your trip wasn't difficult."
From anyone else, that would sound like a pleasant and banal greeting. It is not. From the foremost teleportation mage in the world? It takes on a new meaning. Maybe several. Perhaps, it alludes to Anne's relatively meager funds and social standing. She can't afford to pay the exorbitant rate required to activate one of mother's teleport rings. It could be a condemnation of her prideful rejection of free passage. Or it could be a rebuke on her relative weakness, that the beasts and the terrible weather that waylay travelers in this day and age were able to so inconvenience her. Most people would scoff at the idea that so much meaning and scorn could be packed into a simple greeting, but your mother wields her words the same way she wields her spells, her money, and her family.
The whole thing is exhausting.
"Good morning, Mrs. Barlowe." Anne responds with a smile. She gives no sign of picking up on your mother's game. "The trip wasn't too bad. Unexpected hurricane grounded us for a day. A firestorm broke out over a new Incursion point. We had to fly around a pack of Sky Hunters, but the captain was a real professional. Nothing we couldn't handle. At least, all the documents were in order so the various inspections didn't take too long."
"Oh, good to hear that the bureaucrats are still making life difficult. Whatever would we do without them." Mother responds shortly. She has no patience for bureaucrats and other mid-level functionaries. Despite having married a military man, she doesn't have much patience for soldiers either. Actually, outside of her family and her boss, you're not sure she really likes anybody.
"Vanessa, Anne must be tired. At least wait until after dinner to give her the third degree." Father chuckles goodnaturedly. He lays his remaining hand on his wife's. His blue eyes, so like your own, are filled with gentle resolve. He turns to your date. "It's good to see you, lieutenant. I hope we can speak later. I'm very interested in how things are going at the tip of the spear."
She stands up ramrod straight and very nearly snaps a salute. "Yes, sir."
Then there's a group photo. All the Barlowes and their significant others are in it. This is the first time your family's been together in, well, you don't think everyone here has ever been all together. Anne tries to step aside, but you're having none of that.
Finally, it's time for your father's announcement speech. A young latino woman, a blank who volunteers at several orphanages, gets up and introduces herself. She is Daniella Reyes, and she is one of the survivors of the Washington Incursion. She tears up when she speaks of how Ronald Barlowe saved the city by destroying the Gate there, how he personally saved both her and her brother.
He takes the stage to thunderous applause. And he looks directly at the cameras. "I am Ronald Barlowe. I am running for president. This isn't about my family or I. These are troubled times. Here, now, we face challenges unlike anything in the history of mankind. I promise to pursue an agenda of equality for the disadvantaged, a policy of distributing the wonders of magic so that everyone can benefit, and aggressive, extensive resistance against the forces that invade and encroach upon our world. With all of your support, we will win!"
His speech continues, but it's nothing you haven't heard before. It's his usual stump speech with a few caveats. Still, you can't help but be impressed by your father's charisma. Every eye is on him, and he looks like a president should look! He commands their attention by sheer will power.
You are exhausted. But, you won't pass up the opportunity to see your family. Who knows when you'll see them all next! Two of your elder siblings will be leaving very shortly, so who do you decide to speak with?
[] Go talk to Richard. A widower. He resides in the experimental space colony with other elites of Mage society. There he conducts magical research above and beyond what most imagine to be possible. You haven't seen him since his wife's funeral. His daughter Emma, who's being raised by your own parents, is like a daughter to you.
[] Go talk to Samantha. Happily married with a pair of kids. She helped raise you and your siblings while your parents were enmeshed in the wars of the Decade of Madness. Now, she's the ambassador to the Archaens at the embassy on their home planet. You haven't seen her since she received her posting.
Never Alone
Mazrick
Shai'tan
- Location
- The Pit of Doom
The speech drags on for a while. The usual spiel about taxes and benefits and the troops. You know this rigmarole by heart. Anne, of course, eats it up. This is what she came for the day you met her, and she still hasn't had her fill. Granted, father is inspirational as all hell. You could practically recite the speech yourself at this point, but you decide not to burst her bubble. It's not worth a fight, and it's not like you actually disagree with anything your father is saying, either. Sometimes he even manages to deliver on parts of it. More than can be said for other leaders.
Soon enough his announcement concludes to a standing ovation, and the mingling begins once again, in force. Most of the guests begin filtering outdoors, where the band, Killers In My Eyes, is beginning to play their set. "Wanna go watch the show?" Anne's a big fan. You know that much. Their most popular song is her ringtone. But this is a formal occasion, and you're still a Barlowe. Prioritize.
"You should come meet the rest of my family first." You scan the room. Already, the youngest of the Barlowe clan have been hustled out to the children's play area. Can't have them getting in the way of grown up business. Your father's already rubbing elbows, getting an early jump on fundraising no doubt. Your elder sisters are already working the room, introducing themselves to anyone who'll give them an ear. Plenty do. Being so closely associated with the Archaens has that effect. Your younger sisters are doing much the same, albeit with less finesse and mixed results. Simon's seemingly gone outside already, and you're not sure where your mother is. She could literally be anywhere on earth. And then, of course, there's the outlier.
Richard. He's isolated at the edges of the party, keeping to himself. Before the speech, his daughter, Emma, had been attempting to show him a book. She made as much progress with him as you've made in your pathetic attempts to learn magic. He may as well be a stranger to her. Her father's attitude was clearly wearing on the little girl's usually bottomless enthusiasm. She's gone somewhere else by now. Playing with the other young ones, probably. You're not sure if you can bring yourself to just let it go, though. Time to kill two birds with one stone. You drag Anne along to make the introduction.
"Richard!" you wave to him as you approach.
"Terrence," smooth as a worry stone, he turns to address you. He's really the only one who calls you that. "It's been three years and eight months."
There's no follow up to that. Just as the pause in the conversation is starting to grow awkward, you wrap an arm around your girlfriend's waist and pull her forward. "So, this is Anne Thompson."
"Hello, Anne." Richard responds with small nod of recognition. He shakes her hand formally.
"Hi, Terry's told me all about you." Anne says from your side.
She seems a bit shy. Not at all like her normal self. Usually, she's the gung-ho extrovert. Not so much here. The soldier is ill at ease. Perhaps she's intimidated? Not out of the question. Both your mother and Richard are considered A-rank mages. There's only 100 or so of their rank in the entire world. Many know their names and faces by heart. You never bothered. On the other hand Anne is ranked as a solid C mage, and there are hundreds of thousands mages who share her designation. That shouldn't matter, but it does. Power dynamics play a significant role in the interplay between mages of all stripes, especially upon initial contact. Something about the interplay of Auras. Should have expected this.
Another pause. You bite back a sigh, and power through, "So, how's life on the Frontier?"
"I'm well. My work keeps me busy. All my needs are met adequately, however I agreed to an NDA with regards to the station. Going into any further detail might invoke the more stringent aspects of the contract."
"Ah, I should have guessed." It's your turn to flounder and nod. The Frontier is the name of humanity's biggest and best magically augmented space station. In geosynchronous orbit above Sydney, Austrailia, it is presided over by the S-Rank mage, Nya Dran. Only the best of the best, or at least the wealthiest of the wealthy, are allowed entry into the exclusive retreat. Absolutely nothing is known of what goes on within. Nya Dran is very good at keeping secrets.
You watch your older brother for a few moments. He's tall and strong. Takes after your mother rather than your father. His black eyes are sharp. Always fascinated by magic and extremely diligent in his studies, he'd nevertheless been a great older brother. Brave and kind and compassionate. Samantha filled the void where mother should have been, but Richard was the one you turned to whenever you needed help.
Then Bethany had passed. That had been hard. You loved the woman dearly. She'd been warm and gentle. You'd known her well. The whole family had. She was a Medium, and a rising star at Daedalus. Some of her research still serves an important role in their work there. Losing her still hurts. But, her death ripped something precious out of your brother. Richard quit his work at Daedalus and left for Frontier a month later. He's only visited Emma a handful of times since then.
This is only your second time seeing him since Bethany's funeral all those years ago. And he's changed. There's some grey in his dark hair. His eyes look at you almost like you're a stranger. Still, he's your big brother, right? You really do want to take him to task for all but abandoning his daughter, but you're not going to do that in front of others, not even Anne.
The silence does turn awkward now. A few moments later Richard speaks, "Anne, you're in the IRT? I believe father said something to that effect." She nods. "Dangerous work. Necessary work. Even with father's reforms, casualty rates are still north of 8% yearly, yes?" Your jaw sets angrily. The notion of Anne dying in combat already keeps you up at night. More than you already would be. He continues, "I would like to help."
"How?" Anne asks with a raised eyebrow.
He leans forward slightly. "Material assistance. I have a number of associates who wish for their advancements to receive field testing. Of course, I won't go into details until you sign a proper non-disclosure agreement, but despite the experimental nature of the equipment, it is still far better than anything you can afford surface side."
"Anne's not going to be your guinea pig, Rick." You fume. He'd always been like this. Wanting to test out his newest toys and theories on others, and oftentimes, you'd been the willing test subject. On more than one occasion, such recklessness resulted in Doctor Medheave paying an emergency housecall. You'd still enjoyed being included in something, but this is different. You continue, "I'm not going to let you and your friends play with her life." your girlfriend's hair flares out as she turns to glare at you.
"Terrence, perhaps you should let Anne make up her own mind?" He says placidly. " I'm talking about protecting her life. Usually this type of gear is limited to the 'A-listers'. It's not some mass-produced body armor. I can tell you that."
Indeed, Anne looks genuinely interested. The prospect of top-flight equipment excites her. Never mind the strings attached. She turns back to Richard, "Couldn't hurt to talk about it. After all, you guys must be cooking up something great to afford a fucking space city."
"Good," Richard replies, "a representative from Frontier will find you on the morrow. He'll have more details. I think you'll be satisfied."
That's the end of that discussion. Not much you can do. No doubt you'll have an argument with Anne later. And no doubt, she'll ignore your warnings. You don't like losing, you hate it, but you're used to it. Such is the lot of a blank.
There's a bit of a lull in the conversation, and you're all too happy to let it sit there this time. Killers In My Eyes play further into their set. Anne gives you a quick peck on the cheek, and then she's off to enjoy the concert.
Uncomfortable moments tick by, and then you decide to man up and talk about what you really want to say, "You're a pretty shit dad, you know that, right?"
"What would you know about it?" Richard asks evenly, though his eyes flash with the first real emotion you've seen from him in years.
"I know that a child needs her father." You say heatedly. "I know that I'm the one who reads to her and tucks her in at night. I get to lie and cover for your sorry ass. Tell her that her daddy is off playing hero. Emma deserves a lot more. That's what I know."
He clenches his teeth. Some of the old Richard is spilling out. "Easy for you to say. You've never suffered or had to work for anything. Mother and father and everyone else give you everything. Emma is none of your concern. She is looked after and provided for. I take care of my obligations. She's destined for greatness, and no doubt will face things you can scarcely imagine. Do not presume to understand her or judge me."
"What happened to you?" You ask venomously.
"I grew up. Hope you'll never have to, little brother." And then he's gone.
You let out a angry breath. You're shaking with rage.
You stride furiously through the mansion. Guests from the EU squawk as you press through them. A contingent of mages from South America try to hail you. Not interested. Someone's making an impassioned plea for aid to those suffering in Africa and in Asia. The nuclear and magical fallout from the war between India and Pakistan is still fresh on many a mind. Not your problem.
You text Anne to let her know where you've gone. Hope she enjoys the band. But, you are exhausted. Need to find somewhere to rest, somewhere you can catch your breath. There's a particularly comfortable sofa in a side room. You nod to guests as you leave the public area of the mansion and move into the private section reserved for only the Barlowes and their closest friends.
As soon as you sit, you're asleep. No dreams, as usual. Only restless oblivion.
Cold.
Wet.
Eyes open. Stinging. White light. Can't look away.
Breathe. Something down your throat. Metal and water.
Listen. Dead silence. Can't even hear the beating of your own heart.
Move. Can't. Something between gel and water encases your entire body. Naked.
Pain. Pulsating and knifing. You scream and try to writhe in agony. Can't move, can't make noise, can't even blink. The viscous material holding you prisoner vibrates. Seeps into and through your skin. Nets of fire lash through your entire body. No words. Suffering. Agony. Torture. Doesn't even begin to describe it.
Your mind tries to shut off. Can't. Won't. Clarity makes everything so much worse.
Every facet of your body, down to the bone and even deeper, has fiery hot nails hammered deep. Someone, something pulls. There is a cut. Resistance. Hunger. Devour. The vibration stops for a heartbeat. You collapse in on yourself. You know you're going to die.
The light grows brighter and brighter until your eyes are nearly seared from your skull. The vibration returns. The seismic shifting of the world itself. The very facets of you are penetrated, violated, and pulled apart. A tug of war. Hunger wars against Purpose. The light goes out. And you begin to come undone.
Something other is cut.
Death and oblivion are there.
In absence of the void, life and power well up within you. Your body is porous. Power clings and cloaks your form. Your mind nearly shatters as heightened sensations cascades over your perception like a stampede of elephants. A new awareness cuts a blazing furrow through the blighted wasteland that was your awareness. Once you were blind. Now, you see.
The shackles of this place still hold you. No more. You move. Get away from here. You're moving faster than thought.
Glass shatters. You see dozens and dozens of tubes like the one you just escaped, lining a cavernous space. Lesser, dormant power echoes your own in each vestibule. The glowing white liquid begins to pour out onto the clinically clean floor. You just have time to note a sign in Portugese before everything explodes. The lab is gone as the shockwaves of your movement annihilate everything in sight. Sonic booms buffet your form.
Heat and noise and chaos. None of it touches you.
Moments later you stand in the middle of a crater nearly a quarter mile wide. Above, you see the steel towers of a bustling metropolitan area. Dust is heavy in the air, but a new sense pierces the veil of particles.
Is this what your family feels all the time?! You're a wizard, Terry! Everything before this moment was drab and dull.
Your attention diverts from the ruined surroundings to a being directly before you.
You are not alone. You've never been alone. You know that now.
What do you see? (Only others with a shade—somehow, you know that there are others—or those with specialized equipment will be able to detect this being.)
[] Hydra-
Your shade can lay eggs inside of any living being with sufficient magical energy, which will hatch into larvae that consume their host's from the inside out, gaining a measure of its strength and taking on some of its characteristics. The full-grown offspring will require constant feeding, either by your aura or external sources. They can be trained and organized, and can even consume their siblings to grow further. Initially, these hatchlings will defer to you, however you will have to work to retain their loyalty.
[] Basilisk-
Your shade can possess other living creatures. It will inhabit others' bodies until there is not sufficient magical energy to sustain it. As a passive observer, it will use up minimal energy from its host and remain extremely difficult to detect. At a cost to yourself, you may experience the host's own perceptions. When trying to actively influence the target, it will eat through magic at an increased rate. Likelihood of detection will be a certainty. Assuming direct control will cost varying vast amounts of aura, with the exact amount based on the potency and proximity of the target. Whenever it has no host, you'll need to find something else to feed it…
[] Phoenix-
Your shade absorbs and retains portions and pieces of magic with which it has extended contact. The time it interacts with a piece of magic can determine its agency in using that magic. Its power is a significant drain on you, and the number and potency of abilities it can retain is directly dependent on the state of your aura. It will directly commandeer a portion of your mind for itself in order to ply its abilities, so the capability of the shade to use its purloined magic will be directly proportional to your own level of skill.
Soon enough his announcement concludes to a standing ovation, and the mingling begins once again, in force. Most of the guests begin filtering outdoors, where the band, Killers In My Eyes, is beginning to play their set. "Wanna go watch the show?" Anne's a big fan. You know that much. Their most popular song is her ringtone. But this is a formal occasion, and you're still a Barlowe. Prioritize.
"You should come meet the rest of my family first." You scan the room. Already, the youngest of the Barlowe clan have been hustled out to the children's play area. Can't have them getting in the way of grown up business. Your father's already rubbing elbows, getting an early jump on fundraising no doubt. Your elder sisters are already working the room, introducing themselves to anyone who'll give them an ear. Plenty do. Being so closely associated with the Archaens has that effect. Your younger sisters are doing much the same, albeit with less finesse and mixed results. Simon's seemingly gone outside already, and you're not sure where your mother is. She could literally be anywhere on earth. And then, of course, there's the outlier.
Richard. He's isolated at the edges of the party, keeping to himself. Before the speech, his daughter, Emma, had been attempting to show him a book. She made as much progress with him as you've made in your pathetic attempts to learn magic. He may as well be a stranger to her. Her father's attitude was clearly wearing on the little girl's usually bottomless enthusiasm. She's gone somewhere else by now. Playing with the other young ones, probably. You're not sure if you can bring yourself to just let it go, though. Time to kill two birds with one stone. You drag Anne along to make the introduction.
"Richard!" you wave to him as you approach.
"Terrence," smooth as a worry stone, he turns to address you. He's really the only one who calls you that. "It's been three years and eight months."
There's no follow up to that. Just as the pause in the conversation is starting to grow awkward, you wrap an arm around your girlfriend's waist and pull her forward. "So, this is Anne Thompson."
"Hello, Anne." Richard responds with small nod of recognition. He shakes her hand formally.
"Hi, Terry's told me all about you." Anne says from your side.
She seems a bit shy. Not at all like her normal self. Usually, she's the gung-ho extrovert. Not so much here. The soldier is ill at ease. Perhaps she's intimidated? Not out of the question. Both your mother and Richard are considered A-rank mages. There's only 100 or so of their rank in the entire world. Many know their names and faces by heart. You never bothered. On the other hand Anne is ranked as a solid C mage, and there are hundreds of thousands mages who share her designation. That shouldn't matter, but it does. Power dynamics play a significant role in the interplay between mages of all stripes, especially upon initial contact. Something about the interplay of Auras. Should have expected this.
Another pause. You bite back a sigh, and power through, "So, how's life on the Frontier?"
"I'm well. My work keeps me busy. All my needs are met adequately, however I agreed to an NDA with regards to the station. Going into any further detail might invoke the more stringent aspects of the contract."
"Ah, I should have guessed." It's your turn to flounder and nod. The Frontier is the name of humanity's biggest and best magically augmented space station. In geosynchronous orbit above Sydney, Austrailia, it is presided over by the S-Rank mage, Nya Dran. Only the best of the best, or at least the wealthiest of the wealthy, are allowed entry into the exclusive retreat. Absolutely nothing is known of what goes on within. Nya Dran is very good at keeping secrets.
You watch your older brother for a few moments. He's tall and strong. Takes after your mother rather than your father. His black eyes are sharp. Always fascinated by magic and extremely diligent in his studies, he'd nevertheless been a great older brother. Brave and kind and compassionate. Samantha filled the void where mother should have been, but Richard was the one you turned to whenever you needed help.
Then Bethany had passed. That had been hard. You loved the woman dearly. She'd been warm and gentle. You'd known her well. The whole family had. She was a Medium, and a rising star at Daedalus. Some of her research still serves an important role in their work there. Losing her still hurts. But, her death ripped something precious out of your brother. Richard quit his work at Daedalus and left for Frontier a month later. He's only visited Emma a handful of times since then.
This is only your second time seeing him since Bethany's funeral all those years ago. And he's changed. There's some grey in his dark hair. His eyes look at you almost like you're a stranger. Still, he's your big brother, right? You really do want to take him to task for all but abandoning his daughter, but you're not going to do that in front of others, not even Anne.
The silence does turn awkward now. A few moments later Richard speaks, "Anne, you're in the IRT? I believe father said something to that effect." She nods. "Dangerous work. Necessary work. Even with father's reforms, casualty rates are still north of 8% yearly, yes?" Your jaw sets angrily. The notion of Anne dying in combat already keeps you up at night. More than you already would be. He continues, "I would like to help."
"How?" Anne asks with a raised eyebrow.
He leans forward slightly. "Material assistance. I have a number of associates who wish for their advancements to receive field testing. Of course, I won't go into details until you sign a proper non-disclosure agreement, but despite the experimental nature of the equipment, it is still far better than anything you can afford surface side."
"Anne's not going to be your guinea pig, Rick." You fume. He'd always been like this. Wanting to test out his newest toys and theories on others, and oftentimes, you'd been the willing test subject. On more than one occasion, such recklessness resulted in Doctor Medheave paying an emergency housecall. You'd still enjoyed being included in something, but this is different. You continue, "I'm not going to let you and your friends play with her life." your girlfriend's hair flares out as she turns to glare at you.
"Terrence, perhaps you should let Anne make up her own mind?" He says placidly. " I'm talking about protecting her life. Usually this type of gear is limited to the 'A-listers'. It's not some mass-produced body armor. I can tell you that."
Indeed, Anne looks genuinely interested. The prospect of top-flight equipment excites her. Never mind the strings attached. She turns back to Richard, "Couldn't hurt to talk about it. After all, you guys must be cooking up something great to afford a fucking space city."
"Good," Richard replies, "a representative from Frontier will find you on the morrow. He'll have more details. I think you'll be satisfied."
That's the end of that discussion. Not much you can do. No doubt you'll have an argument with Anne later. And no doubt, she'll ignore your warnings. You don't like losing, you hate it, but you're used to it. Such is the lot of a blank.
There's a bit of a lull in the conversation, and you're all too happy to let it sit there this time. Killers In My Eyes play further into their set. Anne gives you a quick peck on the cheek, and then she's off to enjoy the concert.
Uncomfortable moments tick by, and then you decide to man up and talk about what you really want to say, "You're a pretty shit dad, you know that, right?"
"What would you know about it?" Richard asks evenly, though his eyes flash with the first real emotion you've seen from him in years.
"I know that a child needs her father." You say heatedly. "I know that I'm the one who reads to her and tucks her in at night. I get to lie and cover for your sorry ass. Tell her that her daddy is off playing hero. Emma deserves a lot more. That's what I know."
He clenches his teeth. Some of the old Richard is spilling out. "Easy for you to say. You've never suffered or had to work for anything. Mother and father and everyone else give you everything. Emma is none of your concern. She is looked after and provided for. I take care of my obligations. She's destined for greatness, and no doubt will face things you can scarcely imagine. Do not presume to understand her or judge me."
"What happened to you?" You ask venomously.
"I grew up. Hope you'll never have to, little brother." And then he's gone.
You let out a angry breath. You're shaking with rage.
You stride furiously through the mansion. Guests from the EU squawk as you press through them. A contingent of mages from South America try to hail you. Not interested. Someone's making an impassioned plea for aid to those suffering in Africa and in Asia. The nuclear and magical fallout from the war between India and Pakistan is still fresh on many a mind. Not your problem.
You text Anne to let her know where you've gone. Hope she enjoys the band. But, you are exhausted. Need to find somewhere to rest, somewhere you can catch your breath. There's a particularly comfortable sofa in a side room. You nod to guests as you leave the public area of the mansion and move into the private section reserved for only the Barlowes and their closest friends.
As soon as you sit, you're asleep. No dreams, as usual. Only restless oblivion.
Cold.
Wet.
Eyes open. Stinging. White light. Can't look away.
Breathe. Something down your throat. Metal and water.
Listen. Dead silence. Can't even hear the beating of your own heart.
Move. Can't. Something between gel and water encases your entire body. Naked.
Pain. Pulsating and knifing. You scream and try to writhe in agony. Can't move, can't make noise, can't even blink. The viscous material holding you prisoner vibrates. Seeps into and through your skin. Nets of fire lash through your entire body. No words. Suffering. Agony. Torture. Doesn't even begin to describe it.
Your mind tries to shut off. Can't. Won't. Clarity makes everything so much worse.
Every facet of your body, down to the bone and even deeper, has fiery hot nails hammered deep. Someone, something pulls. There is a cut. Resistance. Hunger. Devour. The vibration stops for a heartbeat. You collapse in on yourself. You know you're going to die.
The light grows brighter and brighter until your eyes are nearly seared from your skull. The vibration returns. The seismic shifting of the world itself. The very facets of you are penetrated, violated, and pulled apart. A tug of war. Hunger wars against Purpose. The light goes out. And you begin to come undone.
Something other is cut.
Death and oblivion are there.
In absence of the void, life and power well up within you. Your body is porous. Power clings and cloaks your form. Your mind nearly shatters as heightened sensations cascades over your perception like a stampede of elephants. A new awareness cuts a blazing furrow through the blighted wasteland that was your awareness. Once you were blind. Now, you see.
The shackles of this place still hold you. No more. You move. Get away from here. You're moving faster than thought.
Glass shatters. You see dozens and dozens of tubes like the one you just escaped, lining a cavernous space. Lesser, dormant power echoes your own in each vestibule. The glowing white liquid begins to pour out onto the clinically clean floor. You just have time to note a sign in Portugese before everything explodes. The lab is gone as the shockwaves of your movement annihilate everything in sight. Sonic booms buffet your form.
Heat and noise and chaos. None of it touches you.
Moments later you stand in the middle of a crater nearly a quarter mile wide. Above, you see the steel towers of a bustling metropolitan area. Dust is heavy in the air, but a new sense pierces the veil of particles.
Is this what your family feels all the time?! You're a wizard, Terry! Everything before this moment was drab and dull.
Your attention diverts from the ruined surroundings to a being directly before you.
You are not alone. You've never been alone. You know that now.
What do you see? (Only others with a shade—somehow, you know that there are others—or those with specialized equipment will be able to detect this being.)
[] Hydra-
Your shade can lay eggs inside of any living being with sufficient magical energy, which will hatch into larvae that consume their host's from the inside out, gaining a measure of its strength and taking on some of its characteristics. The full-grown offspring will require constant feeding, either by your aura or external sources. They can be trained and organized, and can even consume their siblings to grow further. Initially, these hatchlings will defer to you, however you will have to work to retain their loyalty.
[] Basilisk-
Your shade can possess other living creatures. It will inhabit others' bodies until there is not sufficient magical energy to sustain it. As a passive observer, it will use up minimal energy from its host and remain extremely difficult to detect. At a cost to yourself, you may experience the host's own perceptions. When trying to actively influence the target, it will eat through magic at an increased rate. Likelihood of detection will be a certainty. Assuming direct control will cost varying vast amounts of aura, with the exact amount based on the potency and proximity of the target. Whenever it has no host, you'll need to find something else to feed it…
[] Phoenix-
Your shade absorbs and retains portions and pieces of magic with which it has extended contact. The time it interacts with a piece of magic can determine its agency in using that magic. Its power is a significant drain on you, and the number and potency of abilities it can retain is directly dependent on the state of your aura. It will directly commandeer a portion of your mind for itself in order to ply its abilities, so the capability of the shade to use its purloined magic will be directly proportional to your own level of skill.
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Shade Appearance and Shade Points!
Mazrick
Shai'tan
- Location
- The Pit of Doom
To clarify on something that may be misinterpreted from the update: Everyone will be able to see the 'shells' of your shade. They will be simply mistaken for Familiars. Only shade bearers will sense their nature as a shade. Further, Familiars are very rare magical beasts normally found only in Incursion Zones which are bound to mages. They are eschewed due to the necessary and heavy investment in aura required to sustain them outside of their natural habitats.
Another aspect that I'm willing to divulge now: The general and overall value, capability, and competence of your Shade will be directly increased by the amount of quality fan works, discussion, and insightful posts that you all produce in this thread. Content that is deemed worthy by your not so humble GMs will be awarded Shade Points. SP can be spent by the player who earned them to allow the Shade to accomplish extraordinary feats. So feed both your Shade and your GMs with fruitful discussion!
Finally, you will have until tomorrow evening to vote! Plenty of time for a winner to be decided.
Another aspect that I'm willing to divulge now: The general and overall value, capability, and competence of your Shade will be directly increased by the amount of quality fan works, discussion, and insightful posts that you all produce in this thread. Content that is deemed worthy by your not so humble GMs will be awarded Shade Points. SP can be spent by the player who earned them to allow the Shade to accomplish extraordinary feats. So feed both your Shade and your GMs with fruitful discussion!
Finally, you will have until tomorrow evening to vote! Plenty of time for a winner to be decided.
Barlowe Family Tree
Mazrick
Shai'tan
- Location
- The Pit of Doom
Barlowe Family Tree
- Vanessa, 52 (Mother)- A-Rank Mage, Board Member at Daedalus Industries
- Ronald, 53 (Father)- B-Rank Mage, Senator and Presidential Candidate
- Samantha, 31 (Sister)- B-rank Mage, Ambassador to Archaeans
- Nicholas Farrow, 35 (Brother-in-Law)- B-rank Mage, Daedalus Representative
- Uruthal, 7 (Nephew)- B rank potential, Student
- Iris, 7 (Niece)- B rank potential, Student
- Richard, 26 (Brother)- A-rank mage, Researcher On the Frontier
Bethany 25 (Sister-in-Law)- Medium- Emma, 6 year old (Niece)- A-rank potential, Most Adorable Girl
- Carmen, 24 (Sister)- C-Rank mage, Diplomat to Archaeans
- Austin Lafritte, 22 (Brother-in-Law)- D-Rank Mage, Healer
- Bethany, 5 (Niece)- C-Rank Potential, Student
- Terrence, 22 (PC)- ?????, University Student
- Tala, 16 (Sister)- Current: C-rank Mage; A-rank potential, High School Dropout
- Laureline, 14 (Sister)- Current E-rank mage; C-rank potential, Student
- Simon, 11 (Brother)- Current E-rank mage; B-rank potential, Student
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Burning For You
Mazrick
Shai'tan
- Location
- The Pit of Doom
Wracked screaming, the crumbling of edifices, the rushing of a broken water main assault your ears. Dust everywhere Oppressive, coating your mouth, your nose, your eyes. You can feel sweat on your body, the ground rough beneath your feet. Your senses are razor sharp; someone turned the dial up to eleven and then snapped off the controls. Painful. And all of it falls away to background noise when you spot the creature that's clawing its way out of the rubble beside you.
A good ten feet from beak to tail, big enough to eat a horse and looking hungry enough, too. It squawks and clacks at you. Its scaled wings unfold, and then unfold again, and with a heaving flap, the dust clears around you. Talons glint in the absence of dust. You feel like someone poured a bucket of ice water over your head. The Phoenix, and you simply know that's what it is, blends in seamlessly with the golden morning sun, but equally so with the cratered, scarred cityscape which it illuminates. A majestic beast, in its element in any environment.
It gives you a furtive glance, and then it beats at the polluted air. It flies higher and higher. A piercing wail. It's heading towards the edge of the crater. Confused, disoriented, and not wanting to be alone, you rush after it.
The earth cracks under your feet. The world writhes and convulses. Boom.
Your momentum takes you into, and through, the lobby of two office buildings. You come to a stop halfway through a mahogany desk, with a Garfield mug and, thankfully, no occupant. You've overshot The Phoenix by about a block. The sound of metal twisting and concrete pulverizing immediately precedes a collapsing skyscraper. Your Heart's races. Stomach plummets. Throat goes dry. Power radiates from every cell. You can feel it pushing out from the core of your being, exerting a horrific pressure on your surroundings.
Have to be careful. No idea what's going on, or how to stop it. Just don't fuck up any more. You carefully peer out a window and take a look around. Buildings reduced to rubble. Cracks in the pavement turned into water fountains. Huge crater. Shattered corpses visible amidst the fleeing crowds.
Don't move. What caused this? Where did these powers come from? You're a mage!? Doesn't matter. Don't. Move. Can't hurt anyone else.
And then The Phoenix is there. This building, with its professional interior, collapses, too. Everything goes dark. Several tons of steel and concrete land on your head. Its heavy, but the weight of your presence keeps it from crushing you. Just stay here. Can't hurt anyone, and if a building falling on you doesn't so much as give you a nosebleed, you're not in any real danger… Stay calm.
You try to take a deep breath. No oxygen. No matter how strong you are, you still need to breathe!
Everything is dark. No sound penetrates this deep. A dark closet. No light. No sound. No air.
Forget it. If you leave now you'll just keep crushing everything you touch.
The air's not worth it.
Everyone dies sometime.
You know this is the right thing to do—the only thing. It's still hard. Your body screams at you not to stay in this place, but you root yourself. You're not going to keep killing people. You can see the faces of the dead. You'll just stay here. You reject the air.
Maybe this won't be so bad. You know you're about to die down here, but for the first time in your life, you don't hurt. Peace comes over you.
The Phoenix has other plans. As hard as you've strained to still yourself, it rouses and begins tunneling upwards. You smell steel and concrete melting—hideous. It is the work of several long minutes to burn through all the rubble, but you dare not to budge an inch. You feel it wrap an appendage around you, and a moment later the sun is cutting into you again. The Phoenix tosses you onto broken pavement and clacks its beak. You just lie there, limp, still afraid to move.
The broken and fractured street is deserted. Good. No one else's going to get hurt. You ease just a fraction and take in a deep breath. No elation. The pit in your stomach is still there. Your ears are supernally sharp. Cries of "Mãe!" and "Meu deus!" and a hundred other desperate appeals and pained curses burst through the milieu. Columns of inky black smoke rise in the late afternoon. Water arcs out of broken pipes and fire hydrants.
The scale of the destruction is immense. It cuts with pinpoint precision across your heightened awareness. How many dead? Your hands shake. A thousand? You shake your head. Must be much much more. Tears sting at your eyes. The Phoenix clacks as it unfurls its wings, twice over, and then it begins to fl-
Everything goes dark. Force pushes down from the heavens. The air becomes magic. Unimaginable pressure slams you into the ground, through the concrete. An angry god is trying to squash you like a bug. Feels like someone's giving you a bear hug all over, all at once! Everything else in your immediate vicinity is utterly flattened. A moment of animal panic. With great effort, you swing your head to where the Phoenix should be. It too is smashed into the ground. A brilliant torch in the void, it is a beacon to hold close to your heart. Despite the visible cracks in its gleaming scales, its flames have never been more alive. It clacks loudly.
Ecstasy.
The grinding force grows stronger and stronger again. Breathing becomes a chore, but you're content to lay here. Can't hurt anyone if you're here! You don't think the attack affects anything or anyone not already caught in the destruction. The earth below is tightly packed. The Phoenix blazes with power. The only thing in this darkness. A living flame now, but you sense danger.
A second, stronger column of force slams down onto you and your shade. A light spearing through the cloak of artificial night. Searing pain burns through you. On pure instinct, you stand, your body trying desperately to move. You stumble. Your slight frame struggles against the enormous gravity threatening to pulverize you. Survival instincts win out. The trail, a ribbon of blood lancing through the daytime sky, arcs high and leads to the outskirts of the city.
It's funny. In all your cushy life, nobody ever so much as thrown a punch at you. You look down at the ragged hole that's been bored into your shoulder. Warm, wet, blood runs down your arm. The pain's familiar. But the anger that burns through you now is something new. You see red, and follow the line in the sky.
Everything blurs. No control. You blow through several city blocks in an instant. You overshoot your destination by a quarter of a mile, but your movement has the desired effect. The magic that had crisscrossed the sky is gone now. Everything is chaos. It's as if a meteor slammed into the city. All regret is incinerated and swallowed by desperation.
Ten figures stand their ground amidst the aftermath of your rampage. As you tighten your focus on them, you realize they're all armed and clad in matching black body armor. They bristle with weapons ranging from swords and spears to assault rifles. They bear matching golden squad patches on their left arms. They remind you of someone, but that connection is lost in a heat haze. You don't actually recognize their symbol, a blue circle with a yellow 'M' superimposed in the center.
A moment of confusion, panic.
Doesn't matter. They're moving. They're coming to kill. Or at least two of their number are. A pair of armored forms blur forward. Black helmets obscure their features. They move in perfect sync. Above and beyond their supernal speed, they move like world-class dancers, like Olympic gymnasts. Bronze sword gleaming with magic flashes from high and right. Silver spear singing with malice thrusts forward. It's a magnificent attack. Must've taken years of practice.
They're almost unimaginably fast. You're faster.
You throw an untested punch, perhaps the first punch you've ever really thrown with malice in your heart. You're not a particularly violent man. The clumsy jab misses them. The shockwaves and burst of concentrated air pressure do not. Their corpses are thrown through the air like ragdolls.
When the dust settles, half of the enemies are dead. Bloodied and battered remnants of armored figures are visible here and there. The grisly sight is something out of a horror movie. Shields of frozen air float between you and the surviving mages. The Phoenix pecks through a magically reinforced helmet, tears off a strip of meat, and tosses it back. Time stands still for a moment as you take it all in. You waver. You feel like you're about to wretch. The torch of your wrath gutters out, and you shake your head hesitantly, Wh-
These warrior-mages do not hesitate as you do.
They attack as one. Two shields slam into you. You're sent flying. Three balls of fire scour you as you careen through the air. Hot. Your hair singes, skin blisters, the wound on your shoulder cauterizes. You slam into a pile of debris with an impressive thud. The earth craters. Black light, or rather the absence of light, smashes into you. Much stronger than earlier. Bones creak. Some of the smaller, more fragile ones break. Teeth gnash. Your scream is raw. It echoes obscenely in your own ears.
Let them kill you.
The arrival of the Phoenix rekindles a spark of defiance. They're attacking it. Going to kill you and it! You can see its majestic form alive with both bright flame and frigid black force. It swoops down to protect you. They throw barbed nets over it, and bind its glorious wings. Never alone. The gravity well shifts for a moment. More time than you need.
The silver spear of the enemy rests nearby. As instinct takes over once more, you grab it. The weapon turns to liquid light in your hands. For one perfect moment, everything focuses on the tip of the spear. It's a high unlike anything you've ever felt. There's a discharge. You feel tired as you throw the weapon. It shatters through a triple layered shield effortlessly.
All is white.
You come to some time later. You're in a massive crater. The Phoenix is perched nearby, eating. The very soul of fire. You shiver from the cold. It chatters at you, and runs its long tongue through your hair, slicking you with blood.
You're surrounded.
Thirty faceless mages, all in various types of armor and bearing dangerous looking weapons, encircle you. Malevolence and violence hang heavy in the air.
What do you do?
[] Just sit there in shock.
[] Run. Get away.
[] Defend yourself.
[] Write-in
A good ten feet from beak to tail, big enough to eat a horse and looking hungry enough, too. It squawks and clacks at you. Its scaled wings unfold, and then unfold again, and with a heaving flap, the dust clears around you. Talons glint in the absence of dust. You feel like someone poured a bucket of ice water over your head. The Phoenix, and you simply know that's what it is, blends in seamlessly with the golden morning sun, but equally so with the cratered, scarred cityscape which it illuminates. A majestic beast, in its element in any environment.
It gives you a furtive glance, and then it beats at the polluted air. It flies higher and higher. A piercing wail. It's heading towards the edge of the crater. Confused, disoriented, and not wanting to be alone, you rush after it.
The earth cracks under your feet. The world writhes and convulses. Boom.
Your momentum takes you into, and through, the lobby of two office buildings. You come to a stop halfway through a mahogany desk, with a Garfield mug and, thankfully, no occupant. You've overshot The Phoenix by about a block. The sound of metal twisting and concrete pulverizing immediately precedes a collapsing skyscraper. Your Heart's races. Stomach plummets. Throat goes dry. Power radiates from every cell. You can feel it pushing out from the core of your being, exerting a horrific pressure on your surroundings.
Have to be careful. No idea what's going on, or how to stop it. Just don't fuck up any more. You carefully peer out a window and take a look around. Buildings reduced to rubble. Cracks in the pavement turned into water fountains. Huge crater. Shattered corpses visible amidst the fleeing crowds.
Don't move. What caused this? Where did these powers come from? You're a mage!? Doesn't matter. Don't. Move. Can't hurt anyone else.
And then The Phoenix is there. This building, with its professional interior, collapses, too. Everything goes dark. Several tons of steel and concrete land on your head. Its heavy, but the weight of your presence keeps it from crushing you. Just stay here. Can't hurt anyone, and if a building falling on you doesn't so much as give you a nosebleed, you're not in any real danger… Stay calm.
You try to take a deep breath. No oxygen. No matter how strong you are, you still need to breathe!
Everything is dark. No sound penetrates this deep. A dark closet. No light. No sound. No air.
Forget it. If you leave now you'll just keep crushing everything you touch.
The air's not worth it.
Everyone dies sometime.
You know this is the right thing to do—the only thing. It's still hard. Your body screams at you not to stay in this place, but you root yourself. You're not going to keep killing people. You can see the faces of the dead. You'll just stay here. You reject the air.
Maybe this won't be so bad. You know you're about to die down here, but for the first time in your life, you don't hurt. Peace comes over you.
The Phoenix has other plans. As hard as you've strained to still yourself, it rouses and begins tunneling upwards. You smell steel and concrete melting—hideous. It is the work of several long minutes to burn through all the rubble, but you dare not to budge an inch. You feel it wrap an appendage around you, and a moment later the sun is cutting into you again. The Phoenix tosses you onto broken pavement and clacks its beak. You just lie there, limp, still afraid to move.
The broken and fractured street is deserted. Good. No one else's going to get hurt. You ease just a fraction and take in a deep breath. No elation. The pit in your stomach is still there. Your ears are supernally sharp. Cries of "Mãe!" and "Meu deus!" and a hundred other desperate appeals and pained curses burst through the milieu. Columns of inky black smoke rise in the late afternoon. Water arcs out of broken pipes and fire hydrants.
The scale of the destruction is immense. It cuts with pinpoint precision across your heightened awareness. How many dead? Your hands shake. A thousand? You shake your head. Must be much much more. Tears sting at your eyes. The Phoenix clacks as it unfurls its wings, twice over, and then it begins to fl-
Everything goes dark. Force pushes down from the heavens. The air becomes magic. Unimaginable pressure slams you into the ground, through the concrete. An angry god is trying to squash you like a bug. Feels like someone's giving you a bear hug all over, all at once! Everything else in your immediate vicinity is utterly flattened. A moment of animal panic. With great effort, you swing your head to where the Phoenix should be. It too is smashed into the ground. A brilliant torch in the void, it is a beacon to hold close to your heart. Despite the visible cracks in its gleaming scales, its flames have never been more alive. It clacks loudly.
Ecstasy.
The grinding force grows stronger and stronger again. Breathing becomes a chore, but you're content to lay here. Can't hurt anyone if you're here! You don't think the attack affects anything or anyone not already caught in the destruction. The earth below is tightly packed. The Phoenix blazes with power. The only thing in this darkness. A living flame now, but you sense danger.
A second, stronger column of force slams down onto you and your shade. A light spearing through the cloak of artificial night. Searing pain burns through you. On pure instinct, you stand, your body trying desperately to move. You stumble. Your slight frame struggles against the enormous gravity threatening to pulverize you. Survival instincts win out. The trail, a ribbon of blood lancing through the daytime sky, arcs high and leads to the outskirts of the city.
It's funny. In all your cushy life, nobody ever so much as thrown a punch at you. You look down at the ragged hole that's been bored into your shoulder. Warm, wet, blood runs down your arm. The pain's familiar. But the anger that burns through you now is something new. You see red, and follow the line in the sky.
Everything blurs. No control. You blow through several city blocks in an instant. You overshoot your destination by a quarter of a mile, but your movement has the desired effect. The magic that had crisscrossed the sky is gone now. Everything is chaos. It's as if a meteor slammed into the city. All regret is incinerated and swallowed by desperation.
Ten figures stand their ground amidst the aftermath of your rampage. As you tighten your focus on them, you realize they're all armed and clad in matching black body armor. They bristle with weapons ranging from swords and spears to assault rifles. They bear matching golden squad patches on their left arms. They remind you of someone, but that connection is lost in a heat haze. You don't actually recognize their symbol, a blue circle with a yellow 'M' superimposed in the center.
A moment of confusion, panic.
Doesn't matter. They're moving. They're coming to kill. Or at least two of their number are. A pair of armored forms blur forward. Black helmets obscure their features. They move in perfect sync. Above and beyond their supernal speed, they move like world-class dancers, like Olympic gymnasts. Bronze sword gleaming with magic flashes from high and right. Silver spear singing with malice thrusts forward. It's a magnificent attack. Must've taken years of practice.
They're almost unimaginably fast. You're faster.
You throw an untested punch, perhaps the first punch you've ever really thrown with malice in your heart. You're not a particularly violent man. The clumsy jab misses them. The shockwaves and burst of concentrated air pressure do not. Their corpses are thrown through the air like ragdolls.
When the dust settles, half of the enemies are dead. Bloodied and battered remnants of armored figures are visible here and there. The grisly sight is something out of a horror movie. Shields of frozen air float between you and the surviving mages. The Phoenix pecks through a magically reinforced helmet, tears off a strip of meat, and tosses it back. Time stands still for a moment as you take it all in. You waver. You feel like you're about to wretch. The torch of your wrath gutters out, and you shake your head hesitantly, Wh-
These warrior-mages do not hesitate as you do.
They attack as one. Two shields slam into you. You're sent flying. Three balls of fire scour you as you careen through the air. Hot. Your hair singes, skin blisters, the wound on your shoulder cauterizes. You slam into a pile of debris with an impressive thud. The earth craters. Black light, or rather the absence of light, smashes into you. Much stronger than earlier. Bones creak. Some of the smaller, more fragile ones break. Teeth gnash. Your scream is raw. It echoes obscenely in your own ears.
Let them kill you.
The arrival of the Phoenix rekindles a spark of defiance. They're attacking it. Going to kill you and it! You can see its majestic form alive with both bright flame and frigid black force. It swoops down to protect you. They throw barbed nets over it, and bind its glorious wings. Never alone. The gravity well shifts for a moment. More time than you need.
The silver spear of the enemy rests nearby. As instinct takes over once more, you grab it. The weapon turns to liquid light in your hands. For one perfect moment, everything focuses on the tip of the spear. It's a high unlike anything you've ever felt. There's a discharge. You feel tired as you throw the weapon. It shatters through a triple layered shield effortlessly.
All is white.
You come to some time later. You're in a massive crater. The Phoenix is perched nearby, eating. The very soul of fire. You shiver from the cold. It chatters at you, and runs its long tongue through your hair, slicking you with blood.
You're surrounded.
Thirty faceless mages, all in various types of armor and bearing dangerous looking weapons, encircle you. Malevolence and violence hang heavy in the air.
What do you do?
[] Just sit there in shock.
[] Run. Get away.
[] Defend yourself.
[] Write-in
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