Amerion Wardson-- Summoning Spirits (EclipsedStar)
- Location
- Eastern Seaboard
Amerion Wardson-- Summoning Spirits
Having finished most of the tasks they set about to do for the day, night already beginning to fall, Amerion prepares for the final task they had planned to do, after having already informed the Seeress beforehand of their plan. Gathering together several soft rocks and a dagger, Amerion wanders off into the night, towards the outskirts of Rekavidr. Still within the bounds of the trenchworks encircling the village, but just far enough that they would be alone. Alone and isolated enough, that there wouldn't be anyone to interfere or potentially draw the spirits' ire should things go wrong. Kneeling down on the ground, Amerion etches several runes into the stones that they had brought within them, carving in the runes for both protection, binding. Placing those stones equidistant from a point on the ground in an eight-pointed figure, Amerion lightly drags their foot across the ground between each of the different stones to create a furrow in the soil, lines connecting the sides of each stone. Reaching down, Amerion spends a fair portion of time etching in runes of binding and calling into the lines in the soil. Standing to their feet Amerion takes their dagger and cuts a small line along the side of their arm, before quickly rubbing the dripping blood into each of the inscribed stones. Only after that's done, and the runes on the stones are powered, does Amerion begin powering the runes lining the ground of the soil, the runes that would amplify their call-- guide them into the bounds of the ritual-circle.
Stepping back, dagger set aside for now and other hand staunching the slight amount of blood still dripping from the wound, Amerion focuses their thoughts towards the Ginnungagap, towards the Yawning Void, the void in which the spirits dwelled between worlds. Picturing the idea of both heat and warmth, light and fire in their mind's eye, Amerion calls upon the spirits-- calling for a Spirit of Fire. Humming slightly as they do so-- eyes unfocused as they do so-- the first indication that they have the Spirit's arrival is a sudden flash of light, followed by a crack, a sizzle, and a pop. There, in front of them, within the bounds of the ritual circle, is a small flame. "Woah!" Crying out in a mix of shock and curiosity, yellow-orange in hue and eagerly bouncing around within the ritual circle, is what Amerion presumes to be the fire spirit that they had called upon. "What is this place? Who are you? Who am I? Is this what talking sounds like? Is this what hearing is like? Is this what breathing is like? Is this wha-"
Eyes intently watching the spirit bounce around within the confines of the ritual circle-- Amerion holds up their hand, drawing the spirit's attention and bidding them to be silent. In a steady voice, looking on at the spirit in a mix of both curiosity and caution, Amerion speaks. "This land is known as Rekavidr, and I go by the name of Amerion. There will be time for further questions, and I will gladly answer them, but first-- it's been a while since I've last spoken to a spirit, and I am not as familiar with you as I would like to be, most especially-- the grand feats that you have surely done. Would you mind sharing this knowledge, with another curious soul, before I get into why I've called upon you?"
"I don't have a name!" The spirit—who seems to be rather fresh—shouts excitedly. "I was born from a candle! It fell, setting the entire house ablaze! That is my entire life so far!" Amerion's eyebrows raise slightly, in a mix of shock as they parse the spirit's words. They didn't have a name? How could a spirit not have a name? Sure the spirit was just a spark-- so excitedly flickering about in the ritual circle, asking question after question with wild abandon-- but surely they had a name? Surely there was a name that could describe this small spark-- seemingly snuffed out before they could even make something of themselves. But wait... that was a name... wasn't it? Thinking for just a moment, Amerion responds with a bit of mirth, trying to hide the mixture of both relief and disappointment at having called upon such a young spirit. "Then I suppose we'll have to give you a name... what do you think of the name smárgneisti?"
"Smargneisti?" The spirit repeats the name to itself, as if testing out how it sounds, "I like it! I am Smargneisti!" The now-named Smargneisti looks to you, as if looking for praise. Smiling slightly and subconsciously nodding as Smárgneisti's gaze is redirect back towards them, Amerion continues to speak, eyes examining the spirit as they do so. "Now... you said you were born a candle? How would you like to light and power something much more befitting a noble spirit as yourself?" Tilting their head ever so slightly as they speak, Amerion inquires towards the spirit. "Smárgneisti, would you like to light the fires of Rekavidr?"
"Would I?" Smargneisti exclaims, looking rather shocked, "I would be honored to light the fires the one who named me desires!" Amerion's eyes light up with a glint as they hear these words-- traces of eagerness slipping into their words, enough to match Smárgneisti's own passion as they respond, "In that case... Smárgneisti, would you like to make a deal? To solidify this agreement?" Eyes intently watching the spirit as they respond, Amerion's hopes briefly waver as the spirit says, "What kind of deal?" That hope, however, is rekindled, when they realise that the question comes more from the lack of knowledge regarding deals... than it has anything to do with actually questioning the idea of making a deal. Picking their words carefully, trying not to scare off the seemingly fresh spirit, Amerion answers. "A... contract of sorts, a set of conditions established between you and I-- essentially, a guarantee that neither of us break our word to the other, a mutually beneficial arrangement. You said you would be honoured to light the fires of Rekavidr? The contract would enshrine this as one the conditions, that I vow to anchour you to Rekavidr, so that you may inhabit and govern the flames of Rekavidr. In exchange-- I ask that you vow to maintain the order, heat, and lighting of the flames of Rekavidr, and that you vow to answer both my calls and commands, should I need to draw upon your flames."
"That sounds pretty good to me!" Smargneisti says, not really seeming to have completely understood your words. "I, Smargneisti, swear to light and govern the fires of Rekavidr, maintaining heat, order, and lighting of Rekavidr, and to answer both your calls and commands, should you need to draw upon my flames." Hearing those words be spoken-- and feeling this sort of... internal pressure briefly well up in the rear of Amerion's mind as they took hold, Amerion watches as the runes around the ritual-circle briefly light up before fading back to the state that they had been in before, in the moments before Smárgneisti had arrived. Watching Smárgneisti flit around in a sort of 'half-state' where he is intangible yet not in the spirit world-- both visible and not visible to Amerion's eyes, Amerion takes a few minutes to calm their thoughts and mentally prepare themselves for begining the process anew.
Glancing down for a moment to ensure that the runes laid out in the soil and on the stones are still powered by their blood and in sufficient state to be active, Amerion grins a bit internally, after having made sure everything was inplace. Having decided that speaking with Smárgneisti hadn't been that bad, Amerion decides to try calling upon another spirit. This time-- directing their thoughts towards the idea of nature, of growth and life alike, Amerion calls upon the spirits once more, this time, calling for a Spirit of Nature. "Who dares rob an Askefroa from her husband?" This voice darkens the world, gripping it in the touch of one who refuses to bow. Mind rapidly whirling as the runes laid out around the ritual circle seem to flash and darken as one as the pressure continues to mount-- the stones inlaid with runes of protection practically shattering-- Amerion tries to quickly sift through their mind and remember what they know of the Askefroa. Half-recalled lessons now spin through your mind, reminding you that Askefroa are some of the strongest spirits there are. They are also some of the most easily angered. Speak quickly, speak carefully, and maybe you'll have a chance to survive.
Paling as their mind makes that connection-- that they had summoned an Askefroa, Amerion, both deciding to and forced to by a mounting pressure, very quickly falls to their knees before the spirit-- eyes widened and answering the Askefroa's demands as quickly and carefully as they can upon doing so. "--Amerion Wardson... from the land of Haskistadr. I-- I wanted to ask how might I be able to honour you in this land." The Askefroa snarls, "I have heard no mention of this land, you lie!" Lifting a finger, the Askefroa marshals her strength and prepares to strike you done. You have a handful of heartbeats to make your case.
Shrinking slightly, eyes narrowing shut as they feel that invisible pressure continue to mount and an invisible darkness seemingly clouding the edges of their gaze, Amerion responds quickly. "That-- that's the name we called this new place we arrived on. We fled here from Gotland." The gathering power stops, "Gotland? I had a sister there, she has not responded to my whispers in some time. Talk, quickly, what have you done with her?" One wrong move and you will die, you are sure of it. Rapidly breathing with widened eyes as their mind processes what the Askefroa is insinuating, and just barely keeping themselves from actually collapsing onto the ground in the face of the Askefroa's ire, quickly responds with a shaky voice. "I-- I don't know. Gotland fell before the might of the Jomsvikings and they scorched the very land we called home. We-we barely made it out alive while Ha-- Hallr held them off."
"The Jomsvikings?" The Askefroa tilts her head to the side, "Tell me where I can find them, now." Mind whirling-- desperately trying to put together half-remembered conversations and brief glimpses of maps of Gotland and the surrounding region-- Amerion's mind drifts towards the land of the Poles, towards the memory of overhearing whispered stories and tales mere weeks before the Fall of Gotland-- of a fortress in the town of Wollin, better known and hated as Jomsborg... the bastion from which the Jomsvikings hailed. Putting together half-together thoughts, Amerion quickly responds, "J--Jomsborg, they're in Jomsborg. They-- they also call the place Wolin. It--- it's in Poland!"
"Jomsborg, called Wolin, in Poland." The Askefroa repeats as if judging your very soul. "I will remember your aid, seerling. Call upon Alfatella should you ever wish to be repaid." She vanishes, forcefully dispelling herself, and you collapse as relief washes over you. Just letting themselves fall to the ground on their side-- eyes staring up towards the night-sky, Amerion tries to steady their breathing, visibly shaking as they try to quell the subsiding terror and the feeling of that invisible pressure vanishing in an instant. Eventually... after some time of lying their on the ground, Amerion gets up and rubs some of the soil off of themselves before looking down at the ritual circle. Cracks lining the stones around the centre and the blood inscribed in the runes almost visibly burnt or dried completely out in nearly all of the runes, at just the presence and attention of the Askefroa, Amerion uses their feet to kick up the soil and cover up or break what unshattered runes there still were around the ritual circle. They'd pushed their luck far, far too much as is... and they needed to bury whatever drops of their blood that hadn't been burned up powering the runes before someone or something came along and thought to use it for their own purposes. Having done that, and picking up the fallen dagger after doing so, Amerion slowly wanders back to the centre of Rekavidr, giving a bit of a dazed summary of what had transpired to the Seeress before wandering off to also let the Jarl know as well.
Stepping back, dagger set aside for now and other hand staunching the slight amount of blood still dripping from the wound, Amerion focuses their thoughts towards the Ginnungagap, towards the Yawning Void, the void in which the spirits dwelled between worlds. Picturing the idea of both heat and warmth, light and fire in their mind's eye, Amerion calls upon the spirits-- calling for a Spirit of Fire. Humming slightly as they do so-- eyes unfocused as they do so-- the first indication that they have the Spirit's arrival is a sudden flash of light, followed by a crack, a sizzle, and a pop. There, in front of them, within the bounds of the ritual circle, is a small flame. "Woah!" Crying out in a mix of shock and curiosity, yellow-orange in hue and eagerly bouncing around within the ritual circle, is what Amerion presumes to be the fire spirit that they had called upon. "What is this place? Who are you? Who am I? Is this what talking sounds like? Is this what hearing is like? Is this what breathing is like? Is this wha-"
Eyes intently watching the spirit bounce around within the confines of the ritual circle-- Amerion holds up their hand, drawing the spirit's attention and bidding them to be silent. In a steady voice, looking on at the spirit in a mix of both curiosity and caution, Amerion speaks. "This land is known as Rekavidr, and I go by the name of Amerion. There will be time for further questions, and I will gladly answer them, but first-- it's been a while since I've last spoken to a spirit, and I am not as familiar with you as I would like to be, most especially-- the grand feats that you have surely done. Would you mind sharing this knowledge, with another curious soul, before I get into why I've called upon you?"
"I don't have a name!" The spirit—who seems to be rather fresh—shouts excitedly. "I was born from a candle! It fell, setting the entire house ablaze! That is my entire life so far!" Amerion's eyebrows raise slightly, in a mix of shock as they parse the spirit's words. They didn't have a name? How could a spirit not have a name? Sure the spirit was just a spark-- so excitedly flickering about in the ritual circle, asking question after question with wild abandon-- but surely they had a name? Surely there was a name that could describe this small spark-- seemingly snuffed out before they could even make something of themselves. But wait... that was a name... wasn't it? Thinking for just a moment, Amerion responds with a bit of mirth, trying to hide the mixture of both relief and disappointment at having called upon such a young spirit. "Then I suppose we'll have to give you a name... what do you think of the name smárgneisti?"
"Smargneisti?" The spirit repeats the name to itself, as if testing out how it sounds, "I like it! I am Smargneisti!" The now-named Smargneisti looks to you, as if looking for praise. Smiling slightly and subconsciously nodding as Smárgneisti's gaze is redirect back towards them, Amerion continues to speak, eyes examining the spirit as they do so. "Now... you said you were born a candle? How would you like to light and power something much more befitting a noble spirit as yourself?" Tilting their head ever so slightly as they speak, Amerion inquires towards the spirit. "Smárgneisti, would you like to light the fires of Rekavidr?"
"Would I?" Smargneisti exclaims, looking rather shocked, "I would be honored to light the fires the one who named me desires!" Amerion's eyes light up with a glint as they hear these words-- traces of eagerness slipping into their words, enough to match Smárgneisti's own passion as they respond, "In that case... Smárgneisti, would you like to make a deal? To solidify this agreement?" Eyes intently watching the spirit as they respond, Amerion's hopes briefly waver as the spirit says, "What kind of deal?" That hope, however, is rekindled, when they realise that the question comes more from the lack of knowledge regarding deals... than it has anything to do with actually questioning the idea of making a deal. Picking their words carefully, trying not to scare off the seemingly fresh spirit, Amerion answers. "A... contract of sorts, a set of conditions established between you and I-- essentially, a guarantee that neither of us break our word to the other, a mutually beneficial arrangement. You said you would be honoured to light the fires of Rekavidr? The contract would enshrine this as one the conditions, that I vow to anchour you to Rekavidr, so that you may inhabit and govern the flames of Rekavidr. In exchange-- I ask that you vow to maintain the order, heat, and lighting of the flames of Rekavidr, and that you vow to answer both my calls and commands, should I need to draw upon your flames."
"That sounds pretty good to me!" Smargneisti says, not really seeming to have completely understood your words. "I, Smargneisti, swear to light and govern the fires of Rekavidr, maintaining heat, order, and lighting of Rekavidr, and to answer both your calls and commands, should you need to draw upon my flames." Hearing those words be spoken-- and feeling this sort of... internal pressure briefly well up in the rear of Amerion's mind as they took hold, Amerion watches as the runes around the ritual-circle briefly light up before fading back to the state that they had been in before, in the moments before Smárgneisti had arrived. Watching Smárgneisti flit around in a sort of 'half-state' where he is intangible yet not in the spirit world-- both visible and not visible to Amerion's eyes, Amerion takes a few minutes to calm their thoughts and mentally prepare themselves for begining the process anew.
Glancing down for a moment to ensure that the runes laid out in the soil and on the stones are still powered by their blood and in sufficient state to be active, Amerion grins a bit internally, after having made sure everything was inplace. Having decided that speaking with Smárgneisti hadn't been that bad, Amerion decides to try calling upon another spirit. This time-- directing their thoughts towards the idea of nature, of growth and life alike, Amerion calls upon the spirits once more, this time, calling for a Spirit of Nature. "Who dares rob an Askefroa from her husband?" This voice darkens the world, gripping it in the touch of one who refuses to bow. Mind rapidly whirling as the runes laid out around the ritual circle seem to flash and darken as one as the pressure continues to mount-- the stones inlaid with runes of protection practically shattering-- Amerion tries to quickly sift through their mind and remember what they know of the Askefroa. Half-recalled lessons now spin through your mind, reminding you that Askefroa are some of the strongest spirits there are. They are also some of the most easily angered. Speak quickly, speak carefully, and maybe you'll have a chance to survive.
Paling as their mind makes that connection-- that they had summoned an Askefroa, Amerion, both deciding to and forced to by a mounting pressure, very quickly falls to their knees before the spirit-- eyes widened and answering the Askefroa's demands as quickly and carefully as they can upon doing so. "--Amerion Wardson... from the land of Haskistadr. I-- I wanted to ask how might I be able to honour you in this land." The Askefroa snarls, "I have heard no mention of this land, you lie!" Lifting a finger, the Askefroa marshals her strength and prepares to strike you done. You have a handful of heartbeats to make your case.
Shrinking slightly, eyes narrowing shut as they feel that invisible pressure continue to mount and an invisible darkness seemingly clouding the edges of their gaze, Amerion responds quickly. "That-- that's the name we called this new place we arrived on. We fled here from Gotland." The gathering power stops, "Gotland? I had a sister there, she has not responded to my whispers in some time. Talk, quickly, what have you done with her?" One wrong move and you will die, you are sure of it. Rapidly breathing with widened eyes as their mind processes what the Askefroa is insinuating, and just barely keeping themselves from actually collapsing onto the ground in the face of the Askefroa's ire, quickly responds with a shaky voice. "I-- I don't know. Gotland fell before the might of the Jomsvikings and they scorched the very land we called home. We-we barely made it out alive while Ha-- Hallr held them off."
"The Jomsvikings?" The Askefroa tilts her head to the side, "Tell me where I can find them, now." Mind whirling-- desperately trying to put together half-remembered conversations and brief glimpses of maps of Gotland and the surrounding region-- Amerion's mind drifts towards the land of the Poles, towards the memory of overhearing whispered stories and tales mere weeks before the Fall of Gotland-- of a fortress in the town of Wollin, better known and hated as Jomsborg... the bastion from which the Jomsvikings hailed. Putting together half-together thoughts, Amerion quickly responds, "J--Jomsborg, they're in Jomsborg. They-- they also call the place Wolin. It--- it's in Poland!"
"Jomsborg, called Wolin, in Poland." The Askefroa repeats as if judging your very soul. "I will remember your aid, seerling. Call upon Alfatella should you ever wish to be repaid." She vanishes, forcefully dispelling herself, and you collapse as relief washes over you. Just letting themselves fall to the ground on their side-- eyes staring up towards the night-sky, Amerion tries to steady their breathing, visibly shaking as they try to quell the subsiding terror and the feeling of that invisible pressure vanishing in an instant. Eventually... after some time of lying their on the ground, Amerion gets up and rubs some of the soil off of themselves before looking down at the ritual circle. Cracks lining the stones around the centre and the blood inscribed in the runes almost visibly burnt or dried completely out in nearly all of the runes, at just the presence and attention of the Askefroa, Amerion uses their feet to kick up the soil and cover up or break what unshattered runes there still were around the ritual circle. They'd pushed their luck far, far too much as is... and they needed to bury whatever drops of their blood that hadn't been burned up powering the runes before someone or something came along and thought to use it for their own purposes. Having done that, and picking up the fallen dagger after doing so, Amerion slowly wanders back to the centre of Rekavidr, giving a bit of a dazed summary of what had transpired to the Seeress before wandering off to also let the Jarl know as well.
NOTE: Italicised Text is directly from the PM/encounter with the Spirits, non-italicised aren't from the PM/were written after the fact.
NOTE2/EDIT (Added 29/5/2024 after Discord discussion): The protections/runes Amerion used... were not effective. Wrong type of Runes for spirits, some of the blood had burnt out their section due to being overstressed from poor protection runes, some of them were mishappen, and well... yeah not many proper safeguards. If it was ANY other spirit aside from Smárgneisti (a newborn/nascent spirit)-- they would've been utterly free to act and exploit the lack of actual protections. And then... well... the Askefroa is an Askefroa, not much you can do about that. A proper metaphour, would be Amerion making a wall that's just insulation/aluminum foil to keep heat in, whilst what was required would be an actual stone-esque wall to keep out/in a physical threat. Geared towards very different purposes-- and a lack of an education when it comes to proper safeguards resulted in well... this.
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