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To Shield the World (Warhammer High Elf Mage Quest)
- Thread starter Voikirium
- Start date
- Fantasy
Voikirium
SV's Estalia Guy
- Location
- Ruritania Illinois
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Finally decided on what the reward for this is going to be, a +5.
Turn 4 Results
Voikirium
SV's Estalia Guy
- Location
- Ruritania Illinois
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Turn 4 Results
You peer through the telescope up at a night sky that is damascened with clouds of dark silver, small and slight things and yet potent with Azyr that roils and shakes and burns waiting for the chance to strike; and yet in spite of the fact it is Azyr you hunt for, Azyr you desire to understand, Azyr which you must grow to comprehend you do not touch that which is trapped in the growing rain clouds and the growing storm, very probably the last before it becomes snow in the season of frost. For one it is a league away for all it presses against your senses, and you are not so grown as a mage that you can yet harness such arcane power from so far away. You scowl at the thought, and then raise your borrowed telescope once again. For another you damn well understand the lightning; it is the stars you must grow to comprehend. Meteors dance among the stars, burning like little jewels on the black dress of the night.
Different constellations, this time. But a similar pain to last time, though it begins in your left, rather than right foot. Oh, excellent.
First, the Brand of Hoeth. The Hell-Moon does not feed it its light tonight, so its glow is pure golden fire rather than mottled sickly emerald interlaced in the flames, and the Winds that pour from it are hale and whole and hearty: many wizards will be born by the stellar song it sings. Eldrazor's arrow is soft, and so you shall be blessedly free from duels and feud-slaughter for a time at least, and those born now will not bring war with them as they age. Sunfang blazes bright in the night sky, bringing a clarity of mind and purpose with it, one free of the taint of the Widowmaker, of Khaine and of murder, only that understanding of what must be done and a willingness to pay the price to see it happen.
The ache travels up your leg, to just behind your knee. Excellent.
The Gold Rooster has begun to stir, burning brighter and brighter and pouring out magic that floats along the celestial orrery until it reaches the ground and saturates it with the stuff. The merchants of Eataine, of Lothern, are no doubt pleased by this for themselves even as they disparage it in others. Mathlann's wave swells with light and clarity and insight, and many born this year will find themselves drawn to the crafts to make their living, both those involving shipwork and those not.
The ache travels to your back. Ach.
And so finally your gaze goes to the Phoenix. It burns bright in the night sky, undimmed, untouched, by the vile moon, which hides as cowardly as its master. That which lives; that which dies; and that which lives again. That which bears mercy, that which bears the fire of Asuryan. The fire of justice, the fire of judgment, the fire of creation. It is the jewel that marks the crown, it is the encapsulation of all that He is. When it is bright there is light in the world, His light. Manifold of a creative intent and a skillful disposition shall bee born now, bearing the mark of Asuryan's fire.
The ache makes its way up and up and up—
Move.
More than animal instinct, more than mere senses, more than thought, but true foresight for the first time in your life compels you: you toss yourself away even as you force Ghur into yourself, artlessly but sufficient.
A moment later the world becomes fire.
A great cloak upon the world, woven by your wife's hand. A vast cavern, deep beyond depth and dark beyond reckoning.
But it is not done, not your part.
Hither, thither and yon, sparks, not even jewels, brief and fluttering. There for a moment, then gone in an instant a flash, beating like wings and then returning to life, studding themselves, working themselves into the fabric of a dark darker than even the pitchest cavern, a dark like ink and a dark like tea. Phoenixes, except larger and more terrible than any phoenix before or since, the largest of them trailing a pure prism of fire behind their soft, downy feathers and the embers and the feathers left behind are woven into that black silk blanket of the night sky, becoming stars. As they grow old and ancient and icy their sleeping, graceful forms become meteors, fire and ice forced into a graceful, delicate balance by their nature as creatures of both Aqshy and Azyr, like you and yet so different. But even that pales in comparison to some of the creatures swimming through the night blackness, gracefully pirouetting through the skies as their master.
And then there is music, song, light, life, fires burning and blazing as black and white flames scream into existence and you—He—enters, a thing as roaring as Dragon's fire, as booming as the thunder, as clear as the night sky. His will is celestial, and you know Him, and so you know that which is celestial. From atop the Fiery Pyramid carved of purest marble and etched with runes you watch in contemplation, mind racing with thought upon thought, judgment upon judgment, notion upon notion, taking them up and discarding them as is the Imperial right. The Throne of the Heavens supports you even as you look out in silent contemplation and judgment. And then a decision is reached, a decision is reached, and what is right is decided, and what is wrong is discarded, as you see a cancer lurking within your Heavens, threatening your realm, unrighteous and vile at heart. And then your hand—His Hand— stretches out, and—cold?— fire and will and rage, yes rage, pour out like wine from the bottle, and then—
And then you are back at your campsite, feeling rather singed but…alive? Your robe is an absolute write-off however, the entire upper half turned into nothing more than tattered scraps littered like the broken art of a child along your upper form. And then the pain starts, as you feel like your entire body has been transformed into one, massive, burned bruise after suffering a beating at dragon's hands. If it were not for your quick thinking in managing to shove the Ghur into yourself like you did—well you did, and so proved your excellence. Where you once sat has been turned from a forest clearing, ringed by flower laden, darkly green trees, into a seared if not scorched pit, though the trees remain standing. The same can hardly be said for the grass.
Wait.
The telescope is still fine where it landed. But your knotted walking stick has been turned to naught more than ash and fond memories, damnations.
Woozy from your spot on the ground you manage to shape the ambient magic around you into a spell. "Ilavon," you manage to croak out, and the steed you have been borrowing approaches as comprehension flows through him at your command. He nuzzles at you, and you pet his long snout. "Good boy, good boy," you say and get yourself up, throwing yourself on top of the saddle and then slumping as the beating you've taken fills you yet more as your mind returns from the outer darkness, the celestial reality and visions of divinity, to mundane reality. "Home." You begin weaving things of healing, things of restoration, things of goodness and gladness and Ghyran, feeling it soothe burned flesh and end the pain where it stands. The vision plays through your mind again and again and again the entire time as you make the journey.
You ride through the city streets, gaped and gawked at by the ignorant crowd. The roar of agony that was your world for a time has dulled to a slight murmur, like the clinging of chimes compared to the great smashing bells of Loec.
Very well—let them stare. You are Vardanis, and their opinion matters precious little compared to what you have just gone through. You have survived, and that is everything.
You see someone working their way through the crowd, and though he may not have quite the oak among hawthorns effect as your sister or your mother, you'd have to be blind and for that matter deaf not to notice your brother with all the ruckus he's making. Finally he manages to clear the last of the crowd out of his path, leaving him within arms' reach of Ilavnon. "Vardanis! Brother! What in the world happened to you? Why are you half nude?" He puts a hand on Ilavnon's head, and the creature stops, snorting.
Traitor.
"Asuryan has touched me."
"Asuryan—what?" His eyes widen in shock and dismay. "Vardanis, you don't intend—"
"To join the Phoenix Guard? No. No, that is not my path." You shake your head, and get down from Ilavnon's back, the cool stone refreshing to step on compared to the heat and warmth and light and stars and—you shake it off, lest it consume you. "There is too much work I need to do here to spend my time guarding the Phoenix King and the Shrine, when neither needs me."
"How about we talk more when we get home?"
The journey through the crowd is quick after your brother drapes his cloak over your shoulders. And so finally the two of you enter the estate, and the foyer, your brother shooing out any unwanted guests even as you sit down at one of the small white tables that lurk underneath every hanging pelt, made of the same hardwood as the floors.
"Now…explain to me exactly what happened."
"I was studying the constellations again, as I did a decade hence now." You close your eyes and fold your hands and lean back to remember, letting thought flow from you like water. "I had made the west to east journey, and an ache within me had traveled itself up and along my body. Finally I came to the Phoenix, and looked upon it. There was an unleashing of Azyr as I have never know, and that saved my life—allowed me to draw on such Ghur as to be strong in its face. But as it struck me I saw…much. Much and more. I saw the lighting of the stars in the sky, and I saw the coming of the Phoenixes." You fix him a hard look. "I was also reminded that I never did thank you for apparently telling Tethia about my reading material even after I gave you a not inconsiderable sum of gold."
"That was Fhiron, and woefully off topic aside." The way he brushed it off, he is either lying much better than usual or it is the unfortunate truth. That leaves you with the question of how your sister determined this, but then that is a topic for another time. It is only then you notice the small flask your brother has thrust under your nose. Taking it you sniff and recoil at the smell of brandy, and strong stuff at that.
"What the devil is this for?"
"You're going to need it with the trouble you've just brought down on yourself." He sighs and then forces his hair out of his eyes to look you in yours. "Tell me, while you were off galavanting around in Saphery, did it occur to you to ask what was happening here, in Chrace?"
"I paid Chrace as much attention as Chrace paid to me."
"Spiteful mage. Tell me, what do you know of House Ironglaive?"
"That they are seeking the Phoenix King's favor to a truly embarrassing extent."
"Hm. And why do you suppose that might be, elder brother?"
"Well, obviously because they'd like his support for something." You blink as the shape of what that means, really, occurs to you; obviously it requires more detail but you expect nothing good.
"Something is right. For five-hundred years has House Firemane ruled Chrace as the Grand Prince, but they are hardly the only Princes and you and I both know this. For five-hundred years have the traditionalists complained that the Firemanes have ruled. For consorting with Hekarti, at the beginning."
Your eyes narrow. "Tethia—"
"Is hardly the only problem we both have. As time has passed the Ironglaives have grown more and more extreme in their beliefs. From the debatably justified distrust of the Hekartites—"
"Do not speak poorly of her again, she is the only rival I have—"
"I am not finished. From distrust and disdain of Hekarti and a smattering of the most tempestuous of the Deep Folk," he looks over his shoulder with a certain trepidation at invoking the name in a particularly superstitious gesture, "to all of them including Eldrazor, Mathlann, and Nethu, none of whom should invoke such distaste. To believing that, as the sacred land of Kurnous, only a champion of Kurnous has the true right to rule Chrace. They have spent time and money and blood attempting to prove this by creating such a champion of Kurnous, and maneuvering against the Firemanes, both subtly and not. Whether by allying themselves to the Beastwalkers or keeping their retinues divided from Firemane's. And now they have their champion, for all you have not heard of him. But he will require challenges to prove his worth, and now here you are, about to steal his thunder."
"...Oh."
"Yeah, oh."
"How many do they have on side?"
"House Lionmane weakly in that they would back anyone so aggressive against the Druchii, and House Windborne strongly, in that as Beastwalkers they are deeply opposed to any Cytharai influence greater than existing at all." He sits down next to you even as you continue to drain the brandy, letting the sweet flavors play over your palette. "And with House Firemane, the lesser Princes and House Goldmane."
"And one Vardanis of House Snowmane."
"Truly? And how many houses is one Vardanis worth?"
"Enough."
He looks at you, his face unreadable.
You look at him, unerring.
He looks at you.
You look at him.
And then his face splits into a smile and he grabs you and hugs you, clapping your back. "By the gods it is good to have you returned, big brother." You freeze at the unasked for contact. Ah well, just this once. You take your hand and pat him on his back, clapping him with more than a little aggression.
"It is good to be back." You break apart after a moment and fix him with a more serious look. "Now then, I don't suppose anything good happened while I was gone? Random fortune falling onto the House, a new seam of gold, anything that is good news?"
"Well, with your help we've managed to expand the logging processes further."
"I said good news, little brother, good news!"
"I'd call it pretty damn good news myself when the arrows they build, axes they haft and fortifications they construct help us force out the damn Druchii just that little bit better and more skillfully, brother."
"Yes, I suppose that would be the case, wouldn't it?" You slump a bit, though a thought occurs to you. "Least I might manage to enter that temple before ennui kills me, then."
Rolls: 19+5 (Omake Bonus)+10 (Ancient Embers)=34
But to stop the damned Druchii. Because they have to be stopped. Your fault. Your mess. Your responsibility. Who else is going to, the Dwarfs? Only scarcely better. The Empire, newly forged and young as fresh fallen snow? Hah. The Lizardmen? Too broken and busy contemplating for that sort of fight, not now, in this age so smothered in shadows. No, if it is to be done it will be you, the High Elves, who do it.
And so you have come here to this place, a small spring located not far from where the Druchii dropped off their mutated monstrosities to try and kill the innocent. A pristine and pure place, an excellent spot to center yourself and so to find that which you seek in magic. Qhyash flows like water through this place, motes of every Wind playing against each other in an auroral dance for the senses. The trees are thick and vividly green, and the smell of roses, pine, and loam wafts pleasantly through the air. Squirrels, chipmunks, deer, even White Lions visit on occasion though you never drew too near: you are rather attached to your head, after all. The waters were pristine and clear blue. Birds chirp in the distance, and there too was the sound of flowing water.
Were. Was.
Now instead the waters are a sluggish slimy gray that makes a sound not entirely unlike what you produce after a rough night, and there are no birds to speak of. The thick carpet of grass has become a particularly loathsome, muddy, root infested mire littered with spiky little grass strands, sad, wilted, things of a particularly putrescent green. Rather than lions and deer and squirrels the only life that now endures at the spring are flies, mosquitos and slugs that carpet the land, and not natural examples of the creature which are a part of a healthy ecosystem but aggressive, biting, stinging little things, though a fireball convinces them to cease. The trees have been coated in a slimy moss, and now loom like malignant fingers. The smell of wisteria, hydrangea and oleander fill the air list a mist after a strong rain, marching through your nose.
Your replacement walking stick shatters in your hand.
Damnation, you'd replace it if you had the materials!
Suspecting the cause you let your sixth sense flow out and examine the world; but nothing can ever really prepare you for what you see.
Magic, magic in the air, warping and whirling and twisting and shifting. But not healthy Qhaysh, the shifting things of infinite possibility; but Dhar, real and true Dhar. A certain amount, even on Ulthuan, is to be expected; one cannot live next to the Vortex and not suffer some strange effects. Magic colliding together in a spectacularly unhealthy way as it heads forward isn't, well it's not usual but it's not mind-bendingly unusual, either. For all it is a vile smear sullying your art, you could, perhaps would, be tempted to brush it off.
If.
You weren't Vardanis of House Snowmane. Brush it off? And make the sacrifices your grandfather paid, the efforts he put, the suffering, all meaningless? No, if there is even the slightest chance it may be Druchii you must press forward as though it is certainty. Let peace lull others to ignorance; you know the truth, and you know what must be done. This did not simply happen, some stroke of poor fortune; it was done.
And you know who did it.
Dodge.
Both foresight and instinct warn you and so you move, and that keeps the bolt that passes your body from slamming into you. You are already whirring, your mind supplying the hand gestures and the syllables necessary for the work even as you advance on your opponent, who has cast aside their crossbow to instead pull out one of the overwrought blades of the enemy.
Conflagration of Doom would end the fight, but destroy the spring, and you will not end what you love to save it. Fireball is a similar state of affairs, simply lesser. A Lightning Bolt runs the risk of blinding you and missing them and then you would die, dismembered.
No.
The best way to do this is up close.
Death's Scythe springs to life in your hands, the eldritch purple energy leaking like a sieve and ending the Dhar as it touches it. The Druchii sneers, the arrogant shit.
And then you do something the more impressive.
Your muscles expand and tighten. Your pupils grow. Your ears perk. Your skin hardens, toughens, becomes like leather, even as your hair becomes wild, shredding through the ties that had kept it contained. You stand taller, stronger, your robes tighter around the arms and the chest and the leg, your nails long and iron hard and sharp.
The Druchii's eyes widen.
"Wyssan's Wildform!"
Battle Magic. The least of it, but still.
They take off in a dead sprint clear in the other direction, weaving through the trees. You follow, cutting through the branches even as the foe remains quicker than you. Forcing Ulgu into shape they toss knives of shadow at you, but she is a pretty shoddy shot, and you are of the land of the White Lion and fed magic like an infant given mother's milk besides. Each knife is carved through with the pink scythe you hold even as you race after her not quite effortlessly, but certainly not half as much as she needs.
And she does need it.
The two of you race through the forest for some time until she turns around, and draws Azyr to her, and unleashes a Lightning Bolt— a big one.
But you—are the servant of Asuryan, Emperor of the Heavens. The Lighting is His to command. You feel flesh burn, and robes light, but you are standing. You are standing. Dispelling. Unmaking it, on the anvil of your skill, forcing it down and taking the hammer of Ghur to it, ripping the hastily, sloppily, poorly made excuse for a spell into constituent bits of magic, slamming it again and again on the anvil of your control. There is no more amount of Dhar sufficient to make up for the lacking skill of the Sorceresses of Grond, but this—this is sad.
You see her eyes widen before she beats a hasty retreat, using magic to shift her form to something more masculine.
Finally the bolt dissipates.
You slump to the ground, tired but not exhausted.
And you try so very, very hard to wrestle the hate that is the bane of Snowmane, that is the foe of the Everqueen, that is damned by Asuryan and the White Tower alike back under control. You try, and you try, to force the black fire burning in your breast to cool, as chilled and snowy as the mane of your Great Grandfather.
You do not know if you succeed.
A letter arrives, sometime later, with the heraldry of House Snowmane. Opening it and cutting through the jargon, its message is refreshingly pleasing:
As regards to his current deeds in service to both Ulthuan and to Chrace in exposing the infiltration by Druchii, we do endow Vardanis of House Snowmane the right of the the hunter: He may hunt one lion of the pack of Tor Gard to acquire a pelt; further, he may study the beasts as he desires.
-Prince Alial Firemane, Servant of Kurnous
Ah. That is good news indeed. The right to bear a White Lion pelt, of course, is one owed to all Chracians as a matter of course, but the pack of Tor Gard are both plentiful and easily found, making hunting one the more possible.
Excellent.
Most excellent.
Results:
-+2 Chrace Standing, +10 Chrace favors
New totals: 6 Standing, 50 Favors
5 Standing Bonus: Right of the Hunter, may acquire a White Lion pelt from the pack of Tor Gard, being a cut above the rest.
-Gain Cardinal Comprehension of Azyr, may begin expanding understanding of other Winds, learning spells from other spell lists, creating own spells, etc.
-A vision is seen, a vision is shewn!
-An understanding of Azyr has not made the Temple of Asuryan you located more comprehensible but it has made it seem possible? (The Temple 0/8-2=0/6)
-Fought off Druchii infiltrators, put pressure on them throughout the decade, ???
[X] Plan Stellar Sniffing Around
-[X] Keeping Them Out: 4 AP
-[X] Stellar Seeker: 1 AP
[X] You speak to Merel about home, since he has been there more often
-[X] Keeping Them Out: 4 AP
-[X] Stellar Seeker: 1 AP
[X] You speak to Merel about home, since he has been there more often
-VIII 28, 4, 1-
You peer through the telescope up at a night sky that is damascened with clouds of dark silver, small and slight things and yet potent with Azyr that roils and shakes and burns waiting for the chance to strike; and yet in spite of the fact it is Azyr you hunt for, Azyr you desire to understand, Azyr which you must grow to comprehend you do not touch that which is trapped in the growing rain clouds and the growing storm, very probably the last before it becomes snow in the season of frost. For one it is a league away for all it presses against your senses, and you are not so grown as a mage that you can yet harness such arcane power from so far away. You scowl at the thought, and then raise your borrowed telescope once again. For another you damn well understand the lightning; it is the stars you must grow to comprehend. Meteors dance among the stars, burning like little jewels on the black dress of the night.
Different constellations, this time. But a similar pain to last time, though it begins in your left, rather than right foot. Oh, excellent.
First, the Brand of Hoeth. The Hell-Moon does not feed it its light tonight, so its glow is pure golden fire rather than mottled sickly emerald interlaced in the flames, and the Winds that pour from it are hale and whole and hearty: many wizards will be born by the stellar song it sings. Eldrazor's arrow is soft, and so you shall be blessedly free from duels and feud-slaughter for a time at least, and those born now will not bring war with them as they age. Sunfang blazes bright in the night sky, bringing a clarity of mind and purpose with it, one free of the taint of the Widowmaker, of Khaine and of murder, only that understanding of what must be done and a willingness to pay the price to see it happen.
The ache travels up your leg, to just behind your knee. Excellent.
The Gold Rooster has begun to stir, burning brighter and brighter and pouring out magic that floats along the celestial orrery until it reaches the ground and saturates it with the stuff. The merchants of Eataine, of Lothern, are no doubt pleased by this for themselves even as they disparage it in others. Mathlann's wave swells with light and clarity and insight, and many born this year will find themselves drawn to the crafts to make their living, both those involving shipwork and those not.
The ache travels to your back. Ach.
And so finally your gaze goes to the Phoenix. It burns bright in the night sky, undimmed, untouched, by the vile moon, which hides as cowardly as its master. That which lives; that which dies; and that which lives again. That which bears mercy, that which bears the fire of Asuryan. The fire of justice, the fire of judgment, the fire of creation. It is the jewel that marks the crown, it is the encapsulation of all that He is. When it is bright there is light in the world, His light. Manifold of a creative intent and a skillful disposition shall bee born now, bearing the mark of Asuryan's fire.
The ache makes its way up and up and up—
Move.
More than animal instinct, more than mere senses, more than thought, but true foresight for the first time in your life compels you: you toss yourself away even as you force Ghur into yourself, artlessly but sufficient.
A moment later the world becomes fire.
A great cloak upon the world, woven by your wife's hand. A vast cavern, deep beyond depth and dark beyond reckoning.
But it is not done, not your part.
Hither, thither and yon, sparks, not even jewels, brief and fluttering. There for a moment, then gone in an instant a flash, beating like wings and then returning to life, studding themselves, working themselves into the fabric of a dark darker than even the pitchest cavern, a dark like ink and a dark like tea. Phoenixes, except larger and more terrible than any phoenix before or since, the largest of them trailing a pure prism of fire behind their soft, downy feathers and the embers and the feathers left behind are woven into that black silk blanket of the night sky, becoming stars. As they grow old and ancient and icy their sleeping, graceful forms become meteors, fire and ice forced into a graceful, delicate balance by their nature as creatures of both Aqshy and Azyr, like you and yet so different. But even that pales in comparison to some of the creatures swimming through the night blackness, gracefully pirouetting through the skies as their master.
And then there is music, song, light, life, fires burning and blazing as black and white flames scream into existence and you—He—enters, a thing as roaring as Dragon's fire, as booming as the thunder, as clear as the night sky. His will is celestial, and you know Him, and so you know that which is celestial. From atop the Fiery Pyramid carved of purest marble and etched with runes you watch in contemplation, mind racing with thought upon thought, judgment upon judgment, notion upon notion, taking them up and discarding them as is the Imperial right. The Throne of the Heavens supports you even as you look out in silent contemplation and judgment. And then a decision is reached, a decision is reached, and what is right is decided, and what is wrong is discarded, as you see a cancer lurking within your Heavens, threatening your realm, unrighteous and vile at heart. And then your hand—His Hand— stretches out, and—cold?— fire and will and rage, yes rage, pour out like wine from the bottle, and then—
And then you are back at your campsite, feeling rather singed but…alive? Your robe is an absolute write-off however, the entire upper half turned into nothing more than tattered scraps littered like the broken art of a child along your upper form. And then the pain starts, as you feel like your entire body has been transformed into one, massive, burned bruise after suffering a beating at dragon's hands. If it were not for your quick thinking in managing to shove the Ghur into yourself like you did—well you did, and so proved your excellence. Where you once sat has been turned from a forest clearing, ringed by flower laden, darkly green trees, into a seared if not scorched pit, though the trees remain standing. The same can hardly be said for the grass.
Wait.
The telescope is still fine where it landed. But your knotted walking stick has been turned to naught more than ash and fond memories, damnations.
Woozy from your spot on the ground you manage to shape the ambient magic around you into a spell. "Ilavon," you manage to croak out, and the steed you have been borrowing approaches as comprehension flows through him at your command. He nuzzles at you, and you pet his long snout. "Good boy, good boy," you say and get yourself up, throwing yourself on top of the saddle and then slumping as the beating you've taken fills you yet more as your mind returns from the outer darkness, the celestial reality and visions of divinity, to mundane reality. "Home." You begin weaving things of healing, things of restoration, things of goodness and gladness and Ghyran, feeling it soothe burned flesh and end the pain where it stands. The vision plays through your mind again and again and again the entire time as you make the journey.
-VIII 28, 4, 4-
You ride through the city streets, gaped and gawked at by the ignorant crowd. The roar of agony that was your world for a time has dulled to a slight murmur, like the clinging of chimes compared to the great smashing bells of Loec.
Very well—let them stare. You are Vardanis, and their opinion matters precious little compared to what you have just gone through. You have survived, and that is everything.
You see someone working their way through the crowd, and though he may not have quite the oak among hawthorns effect as your sister or your mother, you'd have to be blind and for that matter deaf not to notice your brother with all the ruckus he's making. Finally he manages to clear the last of the crowd out of his path, leaving him within arms' reach of Ilavnon. "Vardanis! Brother! What in the world happened to you? Why are you half nude?" He puts a hand on Ilavnon's head, and the creature stops, snorting.
Traitor.
"Asuryan has touched me."
"Asuryan—what?" His eyes widen in shock and dismay. "Vardanis, you don't intend—"
"To join the Phoenix Guard? No. No, that is not my path." You shake your head, and get down from Ilavnon's back, the cool stone refreshing to step on compared to the heat and warmth and light and stars and—you shake it off, lest it consume you. "There is too much work I need to do here to spend my time guarding the Phoenix King and the Shrine, when neither needs me."
"How about we talk more when we get home?"
The journey through the crowd is quick after your brother drapes his cloak over your shoulders. And so finally the two of you enter the estate, and the foyer, your brother shooing out any unwanted guests even as you sit down at one of the small white tables that lurk underneath every hanging pelt, made of the same hardwood as the floors.
"Now…explain to me exactly what happened."
"I was studying the constellations again, as I did a decade hence now." You close your eyes and fold your hands and lean back to remember, letting thought flow from you like water. "I had made the west to east journey, and an ache within me had traveled itself up and along my body. Finally I came to the Phoenix, and looked upon it. There was an unleashing of Azyr as I have never know, and that saved my life—allowed me to draw on such Ghur as to be strong in its face. But as it struck me I saw…much. Much and more. I saw the lighting of the stars in the sky, and I saw the coming of the Phoenixes." You fix him a hard look. "I was also reminded that I never did thank you for apparently telling Tethia about my reading material even after I gave you a not inconsiderable sum of gold."
"That was Fhiron, and woefully off topic aside." The way he brushed it off, he is either lying much better than usual or it is the unfortunate truth. That leaves you with the question of how your sister determined this, but then that is a topic for another time. It is only then you notice the small flask your brother has thrust under your nose. Taking it you sniff and recoil at the smell of brandy, and strong stuff at that.
"What the devil is this for?"
"You're going to need it with the trouble you've just brought down on yourself." He sighs and then forces his hair out of his eyes to look you in yours. "Tell me, while you were off galavanting around in Saphery, did it occur to you to ask what was happening here, in Chrace?"
"I paid Chrace as much attention as Chrace paid to me."
"Spiteful mage. Tell me, what do you know of House Ironglaive?"
"That they are seeking the Phoenix King's favor to a truly embarrassing extent."
"Hm. And why do you suppose that might be, elder brother?"
"Well, obviously because they'd like his support for something." You blink as the shape of what that means, really, occurs to you; obviously it requires more detail but you expect nothing good.
"Something is right. For five-hundred years has House Firemane ruled Chrace as the Grand Prince, but they are hardly the only Princes and you and I both know this. For five-hundred years have the traditionalists complained that the Firemanes have ruled. For consorting with Hekarti, at the beginning."
Your eyes narrow. "Tethia—"
"Is hardly the only problem we both have. As time has passed the Ironglaives have grown more and more extreme in their beliefs. From the debatably justified distrust of the Hekartites—"
"Do not speak poorly of her again, she is the only rival I have—"
"I am not finished. From distrust and disdain of Hekarti and a smattering of the most tempestuous of the Deep Folk," he looks over his shoulder with a certain trepidation at invoking the name in a particularly superstitious gesture, "to all of them including Eldrazor, Mathlann, and Nethu, none of whom should invoke such distaste. To believing that, as the sacred land of Kurnous, only a champion of Kurnous has the true right to rule Chrace. They have spent time and money and blood attempting to prove this by creating such a champion of Kurnous, and maneuvering against the Firemanes, both subtly and not. Whether by allying themselves to the Beastwalkers or keeping their retinues divided from Firemane's. And now they have their champion, for all you have not heard of him. But he will require challenges to prove his worth, and now here you are, about to steal his thunder."
"...Oh."
"Yeah, oh."
"How many do they have on side?"
"House Lionmane weakly in that they would back anyone so aggressive against the Druchii, and House Windborne strongly, in that as Beastwalkers they are deeply opposed to any Cytharai influence greater than existing at all." He sits down next to you even as you continue to drain the brandy, letting the sweet flavors play over your palette. "And with House Firemane, the lesser Princes and House Goldmane."
"And one Vardanis of House Snowmane."
"Truly? And how many houses is one Vardanis worth?"
"Enough."
He looks at you, his face unreadable.
You look at him, unerring.
He looks at you.
You look at him.
And then his face splits into a smile and he grabs you and hugs you, clapping your back. "By the gods it is good to have you returned, big brother." You freeze at the unasked for contact. Ah well, just this once. You take your hand and pat him on his back, clapping him with more than a little aggression.
"It is good to be back." You break apart after a moment and fix him with a more serious look. "Now then, I don't suppose anything good happened while I was gone? Random fortune falling onto the House, a new seam of gold, anything that is good news?"
"Well, with your help we've managed to expand the logging processes further."
"I said good news, little brother, good news!"
"I'd call it pretty damn good news myself when the arrows they build, axes they haft and fortifications they construct help us force out the damn Druchii just that little bit better and more skillfully, brother."
"Yes, I suppose that would be the case, wouldn't it?" You slump a bit, though a thought occurs to you. "Least I might manage to enter that temple before ennui kills me, then."
-VIII 32, 3, 3-
Rolls: 19+5 (Omake Bonus)+10 (Ancient Embers)=34
Such conversation, of course, puts a fire under your hide; and that, that makes you put in some real effort. Not to try and embarrass your so-called rivals. Not for your pride. Not for your House, even, for all you must stand for it. Not for any of that.But to stop the damned Druchii. Because they have to be stopped. Your fault. Your mess. Your responsibility. Who else is going to, the Dwarfs? Only scarcely better. The Empire, newly forged and young as fresh fallen snow? Hah. The Lizardmen? Too broken and busy contemplating for that sort of fight, not now, in this age so smothered in shadows. No, if it is to be done it will be you, the High Elves, who do it.
And so you have come here to this place, a small spring located not far from where the Druchii dropped off their mutated monstrosities to try and kill the innocent. A pristine and pure place, an excellent spot to center yourself and so to find that which you seek in magic. Qhyash flows like water through this place, motes of every Wind playing against each other in an auroral dance for the senses. The trees are thick and vividly green, and the smell of roses, pine, and loam wafts pleasantly through the air. Squirrels, chipmunks, deer, even White Lions visit on occasion though you never drew too near: you are rather attached to your head, after all. The waters were pristine and clear blue. Birds chirp in the distance, and there too was the sound of flowing water.
Were. Was.
Now instead the waters are a sluggish slimy gray that makes a sound not entirely unlike what you produce after a rough night, and there are no birds to speak of. The thick carpet of grass has become a particularly loathsome, muddy, root infested mire littered with spiky little grass strands, sad, wilted, things of a particularly putrescent green. Rather than lions and deer and squirrels the only life that now endures at the spring are flies, mosquitos and slugs that carpet the land, and not natural examples of the creature which are a part of a healthy ecosystem but aggressive, biting, stinging little things, though a fireball convinces them to cease. The trees have been coated in a slimy moss, and now loom like malignant fingers. The smell of wisteria, hydrangea and oleander fill the air list a mist after a strong rain, marching through your nose.
Your replacement walking stick shatters in your hand.
Damnation, you'd replace it if you had the materials!
Suspecting the cause you let your sixth sense flow out and examine the world; but nothing can ever really prepare you for what you see.
Magic, magic in the air, warping and whirling and twisting and shifting. But not healthy Qhaysh, the shifting things of infinite possibility; but Dhar, real and true Dhar. A certain amount, even on Ulthuan, is to be expected; one cannot live next to the Vortex and not suffer some strange effects. Magic colliding together in a spectacularly unhealthy way as it heads forward isn't, well it's not usual but it's not mind-bendingly unusual, either. For all it is a vile smear sullying your art, you could, perhaps would, be tempted to brush it off.
If.
You weren't Vardanis of House Snowmane. Brush it off? And make the sacrifices your grandfather paid, the efforts he put, the suffering, all meaningless? No, if there is even the slightest chance it may be Druchii you must press forward as though it is certainty. Let peace lull others to ignorance; you know the truth, and you know what must be done. This did not simply happen, some stroke of poor fortune; it was done.
And you know who did it.
Dodge.
Both foresight and instinct warn you and so you move, and that keeps the bolt that passes your body from slamming into you. You are already whirring, your mind supplying the hand gestures and the syllables necessary for the work even as you advance on your opponent, who has cast aside their crossbow to instead pull out one of the overwrought blades of the enemy.
Conflagration of Doom would end the fight, but destroy the spring, and you will not end what you love to save it. Fireball is a similar state of affairs, simply lesser. A Lightning Bolt runs the risk of blinding you and missing them and then you would die, dismembered.
No.
The best way to do this is up close.
Death's Scythe springs to life in your hands, the eldritch purple energy leaking like a sieve and ending the Dhar as it touches it. The Druchii sneers, the arrogant shit.
And then you do something the more impressive.
Your muscles expand and tighten. Your pupils grow. Your ears perk. Your skin hardens, toughens, becomes like leather, even as your hair becomes wild, shredding through the ties that had kept it contained. You stand taller, stronger, your robes tighter around the arms and the chest and the leg, your nails long and iron hard and sharp.
The Druchii's eyes widen.
"Wyssan's Wildform!"
Battle Magic. The least of it, but still.
They take off in a dead sprint clear in the other direction, weaving through the trees. You follow, cutting through the branches even as the foe remains quicker than you. Forcing Ulgu into shape they toss knives of shadow at you, but she is a pretty shoddy shot, and you are of the land of the White Lion and fed magic like an infant given mother's milk besides. Each knife is carved through with the pink scythe you hold even as you race after her not quite effortlessly, but certainly not half as much as she needs.
And she does need it.
The two of you race through the forest for some time until she turns around, and draws Azyr to her, and unleashes a Lightning Bolt— a big one.
But you—are the servant of Asuryan, Emperor of the Heavens. The Lighting is His to command. You feel flesh burn, and robes light, but you are standing. You are standing. Dispelling. Unmaking it, on the anvil of your skill, forcing it down and taking the hammer of Ghur to it, ripping the hastily, sloppily, poorly made excuse for a spell into constituent bits of magic, slamming it again and again on the anvil of your control. There is no more amount of Dhar sufficient to make up for the lacking skill of the Sorceresses of Grond, but this—this is sad.
You see her eyes widen before she beats a hasty retreat, using magic to shift her form to something more masculine.
Finally the bolt dissipates.
You slump to the ground, tired but not exhausted.
And you try so very, very hard to wrestle the hate that is the bane of Snowmane, that is the foe of the Everqueen, that is damned by Asuryan and the White Tower alike back under control. You try, and you try, to force the black fire burning in your breast to cool, as chilled and snowy as the mane of your Great Grandfather.
You do not know if you succeed.
VIII 32, 3, 6
A letter arrives, sometime later, with the heraldry of House Snowmane. Opening it and cutting through the jargon, its message is refreshingly pleasing:
As regards to his current deeds in service to both Ulthuan and to Chrace in exposing the infiltration by Druchii, we do endow Vardanis of House Snowmane the right of the the hunter: He may hunt one lion of the pack of Tor Gard to acquire a pelt; further, he may study the beasts as he desires.
-Prince Alial Firemane, Servant of Kurnous
Ah. That is good news indeed. The right to bear a White Lion pelt, of course, is one owed to all Chracians as a matter of course, but the pack of Tor Gard are both plentiful and easily found, making hunting one the more possible.
Excellent.
Most excellent.
Results:
-+2 Chrace Standing, +10 Chrace favors
New totals: 6 Standing, 50 Favors
5 Standing Bonus: Right of the Hunter, may acquire a White Lion pelt from the pack of Tor Gard, being a cut above the rest.
-Gain Cardinal Comprehension of Azyr, may begin expanding understanding of other Winds, learning spells from other spell lists, creating own spells, etc.
-A vision is seen, a vision is shewn!
-An understanding of Azyr has not made the Temple of Asuryan you located more comprehensible but it has made it seem possible? (The Temple 0/8-2=0/6)
-Fought off Druchii infiltrators, put pressure on them throughout the decade, ???
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- Location
- Hyperborea
The political stuff went over my head, how are the princes feuding over Grandprincedom going to affect us? Assuming we end up involved and can't just keep killing Druchii in the forests and the hills and the beaches and the oceans and wherever else we find them.
Does Sky Seeker still only have Narrative effects or did the trait change?
Does Sky Seeker still only have Narrative effects or did the trait change?
Vardanis being favored by Asuryan is definitely starting to kick in more, with it having an effect on his magic, mental state and philosophy, and his political status. It's great he's gotten a better understanding of Azyr, shame about the walking stick and injuries though. The vision was really awesome and I love how Asuyran, the Phoenixes and Dragons where described.
His relationship with Merel is sweet, Merel respects and loves Vardanis even with all the difficulties of their relationship, mainly Vardanis being an antisocial mage who doesn't want to get involved in politics and with Vardanis being favored by Asuryan which Merel kinda needs to become a Phoenix Guard.
The fight scene is great, and I loved that Vardanis was trying to preserve the area he was fighting in rather than just going straight for the throat, his struggle with hating the Druchii and trying to not let that hatred rule him is really interesting.
During Vardanis's interaction with Merel there were some sweet and cool and heartwarming moments. The sweet moment was him aggressively defending his "rival" when Merel brought up her religion. The cool moment was when he said he was worth as many houses as he needed to be. And the heartwarming moment was when the brothers hugged.
The ability to learn more spells and create spells is great. The AP reduction for the Temple due to further magical understanding is great. The standing bonus for Chrace is really neat as well, maybe Vardanis can make some cool armor for himself after he finishes his sword.
His relationship with Merel is sweet, Merel respects and loves Vardanis even with all the difficulties of their relationship, mainly Vardanis being an antisocial mage who doesn't want to get involved in politics and with Vardanis being favored by Asuryan which Merel kinda needs to become a Phoenix Guard.
The fight scene is great, and I loved that Vardanis was trying to preserve the area he was fighting in rather than just going straight for the throat, his struggle with hating the Druchii and trying to not let that hatred rule him is really interesting.
During Vardanis's interaction with Merel there were some sweet and cool and heartwarming moments. The sweet moment was him aggressively defending his "rival" when Merel brought up her religion. The cool moment was when he said he was worth as many houses as he needed to be. And the heartwarming moment was when the brothers hugged.
The ability to learn more spells and create spells is great. The AP reduction for the Temple due to further magical understanding is great. The standing bonus for Chrace is really neat as well, maybe Vardanis can make some cool armor for himself after he finishes his sword.
Vardanis's love interest is the current Prince of Chrace, one of the tools being used against him is a Champion of Kurnous a wild/nature god really favored by Chrace against House Fireman. But along comes Vardanis who is pretty favored by Asuryan the Head/King God of the Elves, which is a big counterweight against that angle of political/religious attack.
Voikirium
SV's Estalia Guy
- Location
- Ruritania Illinois
- Pronouns
- He/Him
TLDR: It's a wedding and you've just shown up in the same dress as the bride.
Sky Seeker is, as yet, still narrative.
I will consider it. May edit it into the update.
- Location
- India
- Pronouns
- He/Him
That was a great chapter, honestly.
Eager to see what exactly the effects of being Touched by Asuryan are, now. More than anything, the whole Cytharai vs Cadai thing Merel told us about sounds interesting, and with Asuryan being Balance, it is actually quite in nature for him to empower someone who would not stand for one overwhelming the other.
Btw, can we make a shiny new magical cloak from the Pelt, or is it just a prestige object?
Finally, I am fully behind getting Bits and Bobs done next turn so that we can repair our walking stick as early as possible.
Eager to see what exactly the effects of being Touched by Asuryan are, now. More than anything, the whole Cytharai vs Cadai thing Merel told us about sounds interesting, and with Asuryan being Balance, it is actually quite in nature for him to empower someone who would not stand for one overwhelming the other.
Btw, can we make a shiny new magical cloak from the Pelt, or is it just a prestige object?
Finally, I am fully behind getting Bits and Bobs done next turn so that we can repair our walking stick as early as possible.
I don't know what the +5 is being added to but I don't mind. I'm just really happy you (and others) enjoyed my made up trashy Asur/Druchii romance. I worked hard on it
Also sweet mercy Asuryan reached out and gave us a vision?!! Asuryan of the 'I decree that divine contact with the mortal world is to be, if not forbidden, then extremely limited.' He is the Keeper of the Balance after all so he must have decided it was worth it. So holy shit (holy being the operative word, lol).
Also, with the vision, it's very pleasing to see some Sindarin inspiration working its way into Vardanis' life (deliberately or not, it's how I choose to interpret it as a reader/massive nerd) since GW used quite a lot of Sindarin stuff for the Asur and it feels very on theme. The run up to Vardanis seeing Asuryan is more or less the equivalent of what the poem/hymn 'O Elbereth Gilthoniel' is about. Elbereth refers to Varda Elentári, Queen of the Varda and the Lady of the Stars who was incredibly awesome but I won't go down that tangent right now.
Here's the first three lines of it (translation and punctuation my own):
A Elbereth Gilthoniel
O Elbereth Starkindler
silivren penna míriel
glittering-white slants down, sparkling like jewels,
o menel aglar elenath!
from the firmament - the glory of the starry host.
You can see why I my brain went down that route, right?O Elbereth Starkindler
silivren penna míriel
glittering-white slants down, sparkling like jewels,
o menel aglar elenath!
from the firmament - the glory of the starry host.
Also I loved the politics.
That's two people in two updates that Vardanis has become a rival to without even trying to be one. The first was Tethia and her philosophy is more that having such a rival is good because it will push her to excel, which is quite a mature attitude (also she thinks he's attractive which probably helps lmao).
So, to get this right, since the current ruling dynasty of Chrace worships Hekarti to a certain extent (certainly not to any extent forbidden in Ulthuan) but the Ironglaives hate any of the Cytharai to an unreasonable degree - even ones that the Asur have use for like Mathlann and Eldrazor and also believe in the primacy of Kurnous for Chrace and that's the theological basis of their argument for why they are more fit to rule than Firemane.
And in pursuit of this they have gone and gathered support for this cause down the centuries but also creating a Champion of Kurnous to prove the worth of their cause. And then, out of nowhere, Vardanis of House Snowmane comes back home from the White Tower, known to be Princess Tethia Firemane's love interest (she's the daughter of the ruling Prince of Chrace) and is not a threat to their cause until he suddenly rocks up marked by Asuryan - The Emperor of the Heavens! You can argue for the primacy of Kurnous in Chrace all you want but Asuryan is the King of the Gods for a reason, just by existing and being allied to the Firemanes, Vardanis undermines their the entire theological basis for their argument. Also he's a Ghur specialist so trying to claim he doesn't respect the wild places and the nature of the hunt won't hold much water.
Additionally, if I'm right and their champion turns out to be Korhien Ironglaive we might have a problem; because by the the end of Bel-Hathor's reign he was the Captain of the White Lions. And yes, that's a long time to live for an Asur but they can live that long if they've got the drive for it and you don't become the Captain of the White Lions by being inexperienced or weak of will.
Also, House Lionmane supports them because they'd support anyone so aggressive against the Druchii lmao (this would be the house that Korhil Lionmane, Korhien's successor as White Lion Captain after Korhien fell to Urian Poisonblade in the invasion that's covered in the Teclis and Tyrion novels).
But Vardanis rocking up, getting touched by Asuryan and then nobly hunting down the Druchii in their midst (and making a point to do this whilst preserving the surrounding wild areas in a mage duel) must have had Prince Alial Firemane (who I'm assuming is Tethia's father and the ruling Prince of Chrace) very pleased with this sudden political windfall that represents a rather potent swell of support to fending off the Ironglaives.
Finally, Vardanis' relationships with his younger brother is heartwarming, even if Vardanis is an awkward himbo at times.
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- Location
- Hyperborea
I'd also like to see the dice rolls. As things are I can't even tell what we're rolling for when or how well we're doing.
Thanks, that helped clear things up.
Voikirium
SV's Estalia Guy
- Location
- Ruritania Illinois
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Going forward at least I will have them and I will be adding them to this update as well since there's sort of an important update.
(On a different note, you used the bonus from the omake @SoulCaptain did, which is where the +5 is going to)
- Location
- India
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Glad to have the rolls revealed. At least helps judge whether we did good or bad.
And damn, that was a poor roll for Keeping Them Out.
And damn, that was a poor roll for Keeping Them Out.
@Voikirium
The character sheet understanding of Azyr and Chrace standing haven't been updated.
I'm interested the effect the vision and blessing from Asuyran will have on Vardanis. Then there is the effect Vardanis's Druchii will have, which will be interesting to see how that effects the world.
The character sheet understanding of Azyr and Chrace standing haven't been updated.
I'm interested the effect the vision and blessing from Asuyran will have on Vardanis. Then there is the effect Vardanis's Druchii will have, which will be interesting to see how that effects the world.
- Location
- India
- Pronouns
- He/Him
@Voikirium Just noticed you said +10 Chrace favours in the update, which means the total comes to 50 Fvours, not 60 Favours as you have written.
Oh that clears it up! Thank you!
I wasn't sure if there were dice rolls going on in the background or if the +5 was going into the AP somehow. I had managed to confuse myself pretty thoroughly
As an aside, I'm genuinely touched that you considered it as an omake because when I wrote it the thought that it could be one didn't cross my mind, (probably because I was too busy enjoying myself trying to come up with trashy Asur/Druchii romance plots), so, thank you for that as well.
Turn 5
Voikirium
SV's Estalia Guy
- Location
- Ruritania Illinois
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Turn 5 (VII 38-47)
You sit under the light of Asuryan's sun and ponder. The clouds rumble overhead, making many to flee, to run, to hide inside and escape the lightning.
Feh.
You have passed through the lightning and the judgment once; you shall never fear it again. Unbidden you allow sparks of electricity, little gusts of wind and a slight rime of frost to flow from you, keeping the animals away for the moment. How…embarrassing, how sad, to have not understood the whole nature of the Wind at one point? How like the bumbling shamans of the beastmen, of the northmen, of the daemons to be so limited? So blind? You can barely stand it.
In every Wind there are three portions, three ways to examine it, three ways to understand it, though there are those like the Shadow Weavers of Nagarythe and the Mist Mages of Cothique who manage to modify themselves or the Winds or their own comprehension to force them to act in ways out of keeping with the traditional Lores of Magic, as they have been passed down to you from the White Tower and to the White Tower from your ancestors.
There is the Elemental, the physical substance of the Wind, either because it has been linked together or because such motes of it travel through the said substance. To call down the lightning. To shape the hardened metal. To cast light. To move in shadow. It is simple and its simplicity is its strength; there is something to be said for breathing flames and spewing lightning to solve your problems, but to only be capable of it is sad. There are still, however, those who seek to master it: the Shadow-Weavers, if what stories of which you know are to be believed. The Priests of Vaul in Caledor, for another, who work the metal to create wonders surpassing any other kingdom on this planet.
Then there is Mystical. That which is the Wind made into a metaphor, a comparison drawn between the two different entities to, among other things, make one like the other. To become strong as a Dragon. For your courage to burn like a flame. To stink like the dead. To nourish like water. Everything from plain, blunt statements to the most poetic of similes and kennings transformed into magical intent and effect by thinking minds. While a portion of you must attempt to regard it as superior to the blunt, straightforward nature of the Winds Elemental, it is it must be said, at the end of the day, still only a portion of the Wind. Such is the way of the Judges of Tiranoc, who become walking death, as certain as doom and as fading; such is the way of the Beastwalkers of your Homeland, who seek to become like the beasts to live in their own hamlets and homesteads.
Finally there is Cardinal. The Winds stripped of distractions, of the petty divisions of mortal minds trying to comprehend infinity, of lacking the right word; the magic spoken of in Anoqeyan. Without the meager trappings of metaphor, without the limitations of matter. Aqshy is Passion. Azyr is Inspiration. Chamon is Refinement. Ghur is Wild. Ghyran is Calm. Hysh is Understanding. Shyish is Fading. Ulgu is Confusion. Hence the Wheel of Magic, created as it is. Simple statements but hard to comprehend in their fullness; and hardly the only ones which describe the Wind. You will not say it is the path to High Magic, for the Geomancers of Saphery put paid to that; but you will say it is the clearest and the most straightforward, as shown by, in a particular bit of irony, the Archmages of the White Tower, as well as the Seneschals of Avelorn.
And then there is Dhar. Darkness, apathy, evil made manifest; all things wrong with mortality, all things wrong with magic, forced into form. Elementally ice, darkness, mud; mystically poisons, toxins, and beasts. Cardinally? At best pure obsession so great that losing your soul to own the world becomes acceptable; at worst, megalomania reified into an artform. The True Dhar which the Sorceresses of Ghrond so love may make them able to stand against you magically; but your sanity is much, much too high a cost to pay.
And you are sane. In spite of everything, you are sane. In truth the fact that you are sprouting long diatribes on the nature of magic within the peace of your own skull rather than lingering on melancholic thoughts of facing the Druchii assures you of that.
Unbidden you hear the patter of little feet and see young elves racing down the street, trying to get out of the storm. Except a handful of children, truly young, who excitedly babble about magic and mages and so on. Spoiled creatures; but you are not without pity for the parents and nursemaids and servants that accompany them on this day and so you offer a small showing of magic, blending together Chamon and Aqshy and Hysh together into a "rope", not a spell but a beautiful image indeed, and let it twirl around you and the children are stunned to silence.
The parents nod at you in thanks, which is, of course why you did it.
And it is that same sanity of which you were thinking that has kept you from speaking, over much, about what you saw within your vision, what was shown to you by the Emperor of the Heavens. That your mind returns to this formulation, rather than the more usual, says much in and of itself. But you do not feel different, not really. You are still Vardanis of House Snowmane, Vardanis of the First Taught, Vardanis the young. You are not like Aenarion, who became more than any mortal before or since. You are not like the Everqueen, who can banish the darkness with her presence and brings goodness to all that she sees. You are not, and may the gods themselves spare you for making this comparison, like the Murderer in Karaz A Karak, bloodsoaked by his vile ancestor Grungni into forever seeking murder as a solution to all of his problems. You are naught but you.
And that might be a problem.
Since, apparently, you have just stuck your head under Vaul's Hammer without realizing it in so experiencing the vision that you did. The Ironglaives have produced their Champion, a man who, by rumors, journeyed clad as Kurnous into the Annuliis and slew a damn Manticore and now rides about with the thing's pelt around him like a second skin. He was dispatched to face Anath Raema worshipers too, and returned with the hands and heads they took as trophies, and shattered them, forever denying their power to the Huntress. He was to journey the length and breadth of Chrace, facing other infiltrators; until you swooped in and started hard pressing them. And then started speaking of a vision, half delirious as you were.
His name is Thirion; and you are a mite worried, since that is some competition to engender for yourself. And you have engendered it; you will not abandon the only other mage of any skill you've seen to be predated upon by these pretenders. You will not,
And yet, how are you to stand against him?
Unbidden, your mind turns to the Shrine. To the Temple. To that which is hidden. There are no coincidences in this world, and all things turn upon the wheel of the gods. And the gods turn upon Asuryan. There is no doubt in your mind He meant you to find it; and if to find it then no doubt to make use of it. It is a temple not (only, at least) to the Creator, but to the other, less often spoken of facets of Him. The Emperor of the Heavens, and the Keeper of the Balance; that which makes the sun to shine, and ensures the world turns upon rules, rather than being burned to cinders or swallowed up by the waves. To enter it, to learn it, is your destiny, as surely as the sun rises to the east and sets to the west and your mother loves you and rain will fall. But that does not mean you are ready for it. And if you are not ready for it, and you attempt it anyway…
Well. You do not have the sycophants, servants and fools to spirit you away and stick you in a magic suit of armor to survive what that kind of magic unleashed would do to you. Unbidden images of Savan, hair burned white as lightning and eyes made scars, come to you as legends of the old mage appear in your mind. Yes, the magic locked within would be potent, a more than helpful aid against the darkness; but that fate, that fate is to be feared and dreaded more than anything. To never speak again, to never cast spells, to never use magic?
No.
No it must not happen.
Death would be preferable.
And so you are split in twain, and wage war against yourself. You must secure your position, and the position of the House, and the position of Tethia (and what a strange thing to think), and this against a champion of the gods. And yet you also must not fail, fall, and die trying. That, you cannot allow. So before you can you must become more able as a Mage, more skilled, more refined, more everything. Whether that means learning to wield High Magic or studying the eight Winds separate, it must be done.
And then also there is the matter of the Druchii, the Dark Elves to the ignorant, bumbling, foolish tongue of the Haclad, and the poor humans subjugated to their witless whims and their mindless hatreds. This too you have been circumspect in if not quite so much as the matter of the Vision, since none are shocked to hear of their infiltration. Neither those who would deliver the blow to their heart once and for all, finish the Sundering and take Malekith's head as a trophy; nor those who believe the Dark Elves must fade, fall, fail, and that time itself can be your weapon against them. The first for obvious reasons, and the second because of course, if you can fight off the Druchii already then why would firmer, more troublesome preparations be needed?
It is not a train of thought you are entirely unsympathetic to: peace is a fine thing and well worth loving, and you can fight the Druchii all by yourself. But, that does not make it wise, nor just, nor a sagacious idea. Peace bought by ignoring war on the horizon is no real peace at all; but then they do not see it that way, do they? But in any case, when and if you want to actually get support for your anti-Druchii efforts and get them all to see as you see, you are going to need to advance rather further as a Mage. You have, of course, finally mastered the Cardinal nature of Azyr, meddling with the pure energy of the Wind rather than moderating and modulating and meddling with the elements. It is not however, enough. Aethis is too wise, raised in Saphery as he is, to fall for mere magical gibber gabber. You will need to grow in wisdom, in position, in many things. Become Lordly. Become an Archmage, or a Loremaster.
Then, and only then, will you be able to truly stand against the Druchii. Then and only then, may you meet your destiny, and the destiny of House Snowmane, and face and defeat House Blackfang in battle, and finally bring an end to a conflict more than three-thousand years long by…by…
Well what will you do? Wipe them out to the last? Kill men and women and little children alike? No.
And here you thought you were done with grim, brooding trains of thought about the traitors. Perhaps that shall always be what the Druchii bring, grim brooding? It would hardly be the worst thing they've done to your people, and yet it is perhaps the most all-encompassing.
You shall free their beasts. That, more than anything, will be your first goal. They have made slaves of those which you share the world with, and thrown all of reality out of balance and for that you cannot forgive them. More than your name, more than your pride, they sully the world itself, and all who live in the world you.
Yes, yes, that shall be the first thing you do.
Liberation of the beasts.
You lean back, mind full of thoughts of bursting open menageries full of suffering creatures…
(5 AP available, Focus is currently soothed)
[] Arming the March: The Long March always, always, always needs more weapons, more armor, more everything for its soldiers: not everyone can march to war armed with Wyraza Drengul, after all. It would please all of Chrace to show your wealth and power by sending yet more enchanted weapons out, though you lack the supplies for more advanced construction as yet. (Requires at least 1 AP, Chrace Standing, Favors)
[] Hometown Pride: Normally you would leave Tor Gard to sit and spin but their prince has been insulted by none other than a Khaine-loved Ellyrion and that simply will not do for he is still of Chrace. Create a treasure to show the wealth of Chrace to the world. The Horse-Lords will be unenthused but, you quite simply cannot find it within yourself to care. (Requires at least 1 AP, Chrace Standing, Chrace favors, -To Ellyrion standing, Crafting Turn)
[] Bits and Bobs: There are treasures lurking within the forests of Chrace, oddities and rarities and so on. You doubt anything too special, short of things going very awry, but you could use whatever you find the next time you are called on to create something special. (Requires at least 1 AP, Gain Craft Materials)
[-] A Gift for the Prince: As the daughter of Prince Firemane, Tethia could help you present a gift to her father the Prince of Chrace though there are certain standards expected of who he will accept gifts from in turn. Your immediate family is of course supportive of the idea; however the broader House will need to be brought around. It will, however, certainly increase your standings with the higher levels of Chracian society at least. (Requires at least 1 AP, Chrace Favors and Standing, currently locked since magic is not developed enough)
[] Facing the Lions: Conveniently, there is a lion currently prowling about eating the cattle of farmers and other such troublesome behavior. You hardly intend to race into the affair, that being a good way to die, but you can face one, somewhat stubborn, animal, and see it brought down. (0/4, Gain 1 White Lion Pelt to either wear as is or use in construction, +1 Chrace Standing, no Favors)
[] The Art of the Blade: To be a Loremaster, one must master the sword, at the least a bastard sword though truly mighty two-handed blades that require the grip of both are growing more and more popular. Furthermore you must forge your own blade. While it is a sign that one desires to become a Loremaster, it is hardly unknown for others to learn their art. (0/3, does not lock you into the path of the Loremaster, is however a step on it, -10 Loremaster favors)
[] The Art of Two: To properly mingle together two Winds is an even more arduous task than merely to develop in such a way that you can wield any of the eight Winds. You can theoretically mingle together two neighboring Winds, such as Ghur and Hysh, for their mindsets are close enough; however two oppositional or orthogonal Winds evade you as yet. The Archmages know the secret, though so do many Loremasters for all they are more likely to study the Eight Winds separately. (0/3, Unlocked thanks to gaining standing and favors, does not lock you onto the path of the Archmage, is however a step on it, -10 Archmage Favors)
[] The Runestone: The Shadowlanders keep a tight grip on their Runestones but even they cannot fault you for examining what was taken from the Druchii. Strange, arcane stones bearing symbols of power in Eltharin, they are most notably used by Nagarythian mages, Shadow Weavers, to help them dispel the magic of the enemy and that is something you are not uninterested in. (0/3, Procs Ancient Embers, may overflow)
[] Elemental Puissance: The material manifestation of magical energy, Elemental Magic is simple and straightforward and powerful for it. How difficult can it be to understand, truly? You understood Lightning before you understood the Heavens, after all. (Pick one Wind, begin project to learn Elemental form of that Wind, 0/4, may only begin one such project a time)
[] The Metaphor, the Mystic: The Winds Mystical are that which holds the metaphor of the Winds. It is regarded as a more sophisticated and truer expression of magic by many in Ulthuan, though not to a foolish extent. You are well acquainted with it, many of the spells the White Tower teaches regarding Ghur rely on it and it is near to Cardinal in some ways. (Pick one Wind, begin project to learn Mystical form of that Wind, 0/4, if used for Azyr Procs Sky Seeker, may only learn one such Wind at a time)
[] Mastering the Beast Within: You already know Wyssan's Wildform; but there are other, more, spells of war, spells of battle, locked within the Wind of Ghur. It is dangerous, but you may learn them, work to study them, and then unleash them when the time is right, like a bolt released from a thrower. (Will begin project to learn Battle Magic Spell from Lore of Beasts, will enter Learning Turn to decide precisely which spell, Procs Beastly Mind. Only one may be worked on at a time.
Possible Spells:
-Flock of Doom, 0/5 AP
-Pann's Impenetrable Pelt, 0/8 AP
-The Amber Spear, 0/9 AP
-Curse of Anraheir, 0/10 AP
-Savage Beast of Horros, 0/10 AP
-Transformation of Kadon, 0/16 AP)
[] Cardinal Heavens: You now understand the fullness of the heavens; now is only the time to master that understanding, and truly master yet more spells.. (0/3, Procs Sky Seeker, gain missing portion of Cardinal Spell List in Azyr)
[-] The Temple: In your efforts to hunt down the source of the monsters coming down from the Annuliis, you located something alright: an ancient temple to Asuryan, surrounded by the bodies of dead Druchii. It was protected by magic beyond your grasp, if not wholly your comprehension. (0/8-2 (Cardinal Azyr)=0/6, Locked until further personal development IE Loremaster or Archmage options)
[] A Cure: Well, you will probably not ever be capable of fixing the most long term projects but you can certainly work on stopping the degradation process in its tracks from the beginning! The Druchii alchemy is not so advanced you cannot study it for now, though higher comprehension is likely to elude you for a time. (0/5, Procs Ancient Embers, Soothes Focus, gain capacity to cure up to mildly mutated creatures)
[-] The Book of Blackfang: A sorcerous Tome dating back to the ages before the sundering, when Snowmane and Blackfang were one and the same. Ancient secrets are woven into every page, and magic seeps from every syllable. There are multiple sections, but most tie back to varyingly mundane forms of Beast Care, if you were to judge it so. Who knows what else lurks within, however? (0/4, Procs Ancient Embers, Soothes Focus, currently locked since it is as beyond you as magic is to the murderers trained under Dwarfen feet in the Old World)
[] You speak to Tethia about, well, many things, even as you do your work.
[] You speak to Fhiron about the outside world, and the Long March
[] You speak to your parents, since you are, apparently, the one who has to be the mature one
--
Moratorium until .
You sit under the light of Asuryan's sun and ponder. The clouds rumble overhead, making many to flee, to run, to hide inside and escape the lightning.
Feh.
You have passed through the lightning and the judgment once; you shall never fear it again. Unbidden you allow sparks of electricity, little gusts of wind and a slight rime of frost to flow from you, keeping the animals away for the moment. How…embarrassing, how sad, to have not understood the whole nature of the Wind at one point? How like the bumbling shamans of the beastmen, of the northmen, of the daemons to be so limited? So blind? You can barely stand it.
In every Wind there are three portions, three ways to examine it, three ways to understand it, though there are those like the Shadow Weavers of Nagarythe and the Mist Mages of Cothique who manage to modify themselves or the Winds or their own comprehension to force them to act in ways out of keeping with the traditional Lores of Magic, as they have been passed down to you from the White Tower and to the White Tower from your ancestors.
There is the Elemental, the physical substance of the Wind, either because it has been linked together or because such motes of it travel through the said substance. To call down the lightning. To shape the hardened metal. To cast light. To move in shadow. It is simple and its simplicity is its strength; there is something to be said for breathing flames and spewing lightning to solve your problems, but to only be capable of it is sad. There are still, however, those who seek to master it: the Shadow-Weavers, if what stories of which you know are to be believed. The Priests of Vaul in Caledor, for another, who work the metal to create wonders surpassing any other kingdom on this planet.
Then there is Mystical. That which is the Wind made into a metaphor, a comparison drawn between the two different entities to, among other things, make one like the other. To become strong as a Dragon. For your courage to burn like a flame. To stink like the dead. To nourish like water. Everything from plain, blunt statements to the most poetic of similes and kennings transformed into magical intent and effect by thinking minds. While a portion of you must attempt to regard it as superior to the blunt, straightforward nature of the Winds Elemental, it is it must be said, at the end of the day, still only a portion of the Wind. Such is the way of the Judges of Tiranoc, who become walking death, as certain as doom and as fading; such is the way of the Beastwalkers of your Homeland, who seek to become like the beasts to live in their own hamlets and homesteads.
Finally there is Cardinal. The Winds stripped of distractions, of the petty divisions of mortal minds trying to comprehend infinity, of lacking the right word; the magic spoken of in Anoqeyan. Without the meager trappings of metaphor, without the limitations of matter. Aqshy is Passion. Azyr is Inspiration. Chamon is Refinement. Ghur is Wild. Ghyran is Calm. Hysh is Understanding. Shyish is Fading. Ulgu is Confusion. Hence the Wheel of Magic, created as it is. Simple statements but hard to comprehend in their fullness; and hardly the only ones which describe the Wind. You will not say it is the path to High Magic, for the Geomancers of Saphery put paid to that; but you will say it is the clearest and the most straightforward, as shown by, in a particular bit of irony, the Archmages of the White Tower, as well as the Seneschals of Avelorn.
And then there is Dhar. Darkness, apathy, evil made manifest; all things wrong with mortality, all things wrong with magic, forced into form. Elementally ice, darkness, mud; mystically poisons, toxins, and beasts. Cardinally? At best pure obsession so great that losing your soul to own the world becomes acceptable; at worst, megalomania reified into an artform. The True Dhar which the Sorceresses of Ghrond so love may make them able to stand against you magically; but your sanity is much, much too high a cost to pay.
And you are sane. In spite of everything, you are sane. In truth the fact that you are sprouting long diatribes on the nature of magic within the peace of your own skull rather than lingering on melancholic thoughts of facing the Druchii assures you of that.
Unbidden you hear the patter of little feet and see young elves racing down the street, trying to get out of the storm. Except a handful of children, truly young, who excitedly babble about magic and mages and so on. Spoiled creatures; but you are not without pity for the parents and nursemaids and servants that accompany them on this day and so you offer a small showing of magic, blending together Chamon and Aqshy and Hysh together into a "rope", not a spell but a beautiful image indeed, and let it twirl around you and the children are stunned to silence.
The parents nod at you in thanks, which is, of course why you did it.
And it is that same sanity of which you were thinking that has kept you from speaking, over much, about what you saw within your vision, what was shown to you by the Emperor of the Heavens. That your mind returns to this formulation, rather than the more usual, says much in and of itself. But you do not feel different, not really. You are still Vardanis of House Snowmane, Vardanis of the First Taught, Vardanis the young. You are not like Aenarion, who became more than any mortal before or since. You are not like the Everqueen, who can banish the darkness with her presence and brings goodness to all that she sees. You are not, and may the gods themselves spare you for making this comparison, like the Murderer in Karaz A Karak, bloodsoaked by his vile ancestor Grungni into forever seeking murder as a solution to all of his problems. You are naught but you.
And that might be a problem.
Since, apparently, you have just stuck your head under Vaul's Hammer without realizing it in so experiencing the vision that you did. The Ironglaives have produced their Champion, a man who, by rumors, journeyed clad as Kurnous into the Annuliis and slew a damn Manticore and now rides about with the thing's pelt around him like a second skin. He was dispatched to face Anath Raema worshipers too, and returned with the hands and heads they took as trophies, and shattered them, forever denying their power to the Huntress. He was to journey the length and breadth of Chrace, facing other infiltrators; until you swooped in and started hard pressing them. And then started speaking of a vision, half delirious as you were.
His name is Thirion; and you are a mite worried, since that is some competition to engender for yourself. And you have engendered it; you will not abandon the only other mage of any skill you've seen to be predated upon by these pretenders. You will not,
And yet, how are you to stand against him?
Unbidden, your mind turns to the Shrine. To the Temple. To that which is hidden. There are no coincidences in this world, and all things turn upon the wheel of the gods. And the gods turn upon Asuryan. There is no doubt in your mind He meant you to find it; and if to find it then no doubt to make use of it. It is a temple not (only, at least) to the Creator, but to the other, less often spoken of facets of Him. The Emperor of the Heavens, and the Keeper of the Balance; that which makes the sun to shine, and ensures the world turns upon rules, rather than being burned to cinders or swallowed up by the waves. To enter it, to learn it, is your destiny, as surely as the sun rises to the east and sets to the west and your mother loves you and rain will fall. But that does not mean you are ready for it. And if you are not ready for it, and you attempt it anyway…
Well. You do not have the sycophants, servants and fools to spirit you away and stick you in a magic suit of armor to survive what that kind of magic unleashed would do to you. Unbidden images of Savan, hair burned white as lightning and eyes made scars, come to you as legends of the old mage appear in your mind. Yes, the magic locked within would be potent, a more than helpful aid against the darkness; but that fate, that fate is to be feared and dreaded more than anything. To never speak again, to never cast spells, to never use magic?
No.
No it must not happen.
Death would be preferable.
And so you are split in twain, and wage war against yourself. You must secure your position, and the position of the House, and the position of Tethia (and what a strange thing to think), and this against a champion of the gods. And yet you also must not fail, fall, and die trying. That, you cannot allow. So before you can you must become more able as a Mage, more skilled, more refined, more everything. Whether that means learning to wield High Magic or studying the eight Winds separate, it must be done.
And then also there is the matter of the Druchii, the Dark Elves to the ignorant, bumbling, foolish tongue of the Haclad, and the poor humans subjugated to their witless whims and their mindless hatreds. This too you have been circumspect in if not quite so much as the matter of the Vision, since none are shocked to hear of their infiltration. Neither those who would deliver the blow to their heart once and for all, finish the Sundering and take Malekith's head as a trophy; nor those who believe the Dark Elves must fade, fall, fail, and that time itself can be your weapon against them. The first for obvious reasons, and the second because of course, if you can fight off the Druchii already then why would firmer, more troublesome preparations be needed?
It is not a train of thought you are entirely unsympathetic to: peace is a fine thing and well worth loving, and you can fight the Druchii all by yourself. But, that does not make it wise, nor just, nor a sagacious idea. Peace bought by ignoring war on the horizon is no real peace at all; but then they do not see it that way, do they? But in any case, when and if you want to actually get support for your anti-Druchii efforts and get them all to see as you see, you are going to need to advance rather further as a Mage. You have, of course, finally mastered the Cardinal nature of Azyr, meddling with the pure energy of the Wind rather than moderating and modulating and meddling with the elements. It is not however, enough. Aethis is too wise, raised in Saphery as he is, to fall for mere magical gibber gabber. You will need to grow in wisdom, in position, in many things. Become Lordly. Become an Archmage, or a Loremaster.
Then, and only then, will you be able to truly stand against the Druchii. Then and only then, may you meet your destiny, and the destiny of House Snowmane, and face and defeat House Blackfang in battle, and finally bring an end to a conflict more than three-thousand years long by…by…
Well what will you do? Wipe them out to the last? Kill men and women and little children alike? No.
And here you thought you were done with grim, brooding trains of thought about the traitors. Perhaps that shall always be what the Druchii bring, grim brooding? It would hardly be the worst thing they've done to your people, and yet it is perhaps the most all-encompassing.
You shall free their beasts. That, more than anything, will be your first goal. They have made slaves of those which you share the world with, and thrown all of reality out of balance and for that you cannot forgive them. More than your name, more than your pride, they sully the world itself, and all who live in the world you.
Yes, yes, that shall be the first thing you do.
Liberation of the beasts.
You lean back, mind full of thoughts of bursting open menageries full of suffering creatures…
(5 AP available, Focus is currently soothed)
Requests and Commissions
[] Arming the March: The Long March always, always, always needs more weapons, more armor, more everything for its soldiers: not everyone can march to war armed with Wyraza Drengul, after all. It would please all of Chrace to show your wealth and power by sending yet more enchanted weapons out, though you lack the supplies for more advanced construction as yet. (Requires at least 1 AP, Chrace Standing, Favors)
[] Hometown Pride: Normally you would leave Tor Gard to sit and spin but their prince has been insulted by none other than a Khaine-loved Ellyrion and that simply will not do for he is still of Chrace. Create a treasure to show the wealth of Chrace to the world. The Horse-Lords will be unenthused but, you quite simply cannot find it within yourself to care. (Requires at least 1 AP, Chrace Standing, Chrace favors, -To Ellyrion standing, Crafting Turn)
[] Bits and Bobs: There are treasures lurking within the forests of Chrace, oddities and rarities and so on. You doubt anything too special, short of things going very awry, but you could use whatever you find the next time you are called on to create something special. (Requires at least 1 AP, Gain Craft Materials)
[-] A Gift for the Prince: As the daughter of Prince Firemane, Tethia could help you present a gift to her father the Prince of Chrace though there are certain standards expected of who he will accept gifts from in turn. Your immediate family is of course supportive of the idea; however the broader House will need to be brought around. It will, however, certainly increase your standings with the higher levels of Chracian society at least. (Requires at least 1 AP, Chrace Favors and Standing, currently locked since magic is not developed enough)
[] Facing the Lions: Conveniently, there is a lion currently prowling about eating the cattle of farmers and other such troublesome behavior. You hardly intend to race into the affair, that being a good way to die, but you can face one, somewhat stubborn, animal, and see it brought down. (0/4, Gain 1 White Lion Pelt to either wear as is or use in construction, +1 Chrace Standing, no Favors)
Research & Development
[] The Art of the Blade: To be a Loremaster, one must master the sword, at the least a bastard sword though truly mighty two-handed blades that require the grip of both are growing more and more popular. Furthermore you must forge your own blade. While it is a sign that one desires to become a Loremaster, it is hardly unknown for others to learn their art. (0/3, does not lock you into the path of the Loremaster, is however a step on it, -10 Loremaster favors)
[] The Art of Two: To properly mingle together two Winds is an even more arduous task than merely to develop in such a way that you can wield any of the eight Winds. You can theoretically mingle together two neighboring Winds, such as Ghur and Hysh, for their mindsets are close enough; however two oppositional or orthogonal Winds evade you as yet. The Archmages know the secret, though so do many Loremasters for all they are more likely to study the Eight Winds separately. (0/3, Unlocked thanks to gaining standing and favors, does not lock you onto the path of the Archmage, is however a step on it, -10 Archmage Favors)
[] The Runestone: The Shadowlanders keep a tight grip on their Runestones but even they cannot fault you for examining what was taken from the Druchii. Strange, arcane stones bearing symbols of power in Eltharin, they are most notably used by Nagarythian mages, Shadow Weavers, to help them dispel the magic of the enemy and that is something you are not uninterested in. (0/3, Procs Ancient Embers, may overflow)
[] Elemental Puissance: The material manifestation of magical energy, Elemental Magic is simple and straightforward and powerful for it. How difficult can it be to understand, truly? You understood Lightning before you understood the Heavens, after all. (Pick one Wind, begin project to learn Elemental form of that Wind, 0/4, may only begin one such project a time)
[] The Metaphor, the Mystic: The Winds Mystical are that which holds the metaphor of the Winds. It is regarded as a more sophisticated and truer expression of magic by many in Ulthuan, though not to a foolish extent. You are well acquainted with it, many of the spells the White Tower teaches regarding Ghur rely on it and it is near to Cardinal in some ways. (Pick one Wind, begin project to learn Mystical form of that Wind, 0/4, if used for Azyr Procs Sky Seeker, may only learn one such Wind at a time)
[] Mastering the Beast Within: You already know Wyssan's Wildform; but there are other, more, spells of war, spells of battle, locked within the Wind of Ghur. It is dangerous, but you may learn them, work to study them, and then unleash them when the time is right, like a bolt released from a thrower. (Will begin project to learn Battle Magic Spell from Lore of Beasts, will enter Learning Turn to decide precisely which spell, Procs Beastly Mind. Only one may be worked on at a time.
Possible Spells:
-Flock of Doom, 0/5 AP
-Pann's Impenetrable Pelt, 0/8 AP
-The Amber Spear, 0/9 AP
-Curse of Anraheir, 0/10 AP
-Savage Beast of Horros, 0/10 AP
-Transformation of Kadon, 0/16 AP)
[] Cardinal Heavens: You now understand the fullness of the heavens; now is only the time to master that understanding, and truly master yet more spells.. (0/3, Procs Sky Seeker, gain missing portion of Cardinal Spell List in Azyr)
[-] The Temple: In your efforts to hunt down the source of the monsters coming down from the Annuliis, you located something alright: an ancient temple to Asuryan, surrounded by the bodies of dead Druchii. It was protected by magic beyond your grasp, if not wholly your comprehension. (0/8-2 (Cardinal Azyr)=0/6, Locked until further personal development IE Loremaster or Archmage options)
[] A Cure: Well, you will probably not ever be capable of fixing the most long term projects but you can certainly work on stopping the degradation process in its tracks from the beginning! The Druchii alchemy is not so advanced you cannot study it for now, though higher comprehension is likely to elude you for a time. (0/5, Procs Ancient Embers, Soothes Focus, gain capacity to cure up to mildly mutated creatures)
[-] The Book of Blackfang: A sorcerous Tome dating back to the ages before the sundering, when Snowmane and Blackfang were one and the same. Ancient secrets are woven into every page, and magic seeps from every syllable. There are multiple sections, but most tie back to varyingly mundane forms of Beast Care, if you were to judge it so. Who knows what else lurks within, however? (0/4, Procs Ancient Embers, Soothes Focus, currently locked since it is as beyond you as magic is to the murderers trained under Dwarfen feet in the Old World)
Social
Independent of plan, and requiring no AP lest Vardanis should fully lose himself to his obsessions
Independent of plan, and requiring no AP lest Vardanis should fully lose himself to his obsessions
[] You speak to Tethia about, well, many things, even as you do your work.
[] You speak to Fhiron about the outside world, and the Long March
[] You speak to your parents, since you are, apparently, the one who has to be the mature one
--
Moratorium until .
Last edited:
- Pronouns
- He/Him
How do we invest in Mastering the Beasts Within? It doesn't have a listing for how many AP to spend on it so can we just spend 1, or what?
Voikirium
SV's Estalia Guy
- Location
- Ruritania Illinois
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Hm, I had thought to run it almost like the Rune Trades but that does present a pickle, doesn't it?
Tell you what, I will make a list of the already extant Ghur Battle Magic and stick under there along with the cost for a moment, alright?
Voikirium
SV's Estalia Guy
- Location
- Ruritania Illinois
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Added said list.
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Well. Those will all take a while, won't they? We definitely want some, but maybe not immediately.
Personally, I'm inclined towards Bits and Bobs plus Art of the Blade this turn to get ourselves a really neat sword.
Personally, I'm inclined towards Bits and Bobs plus Art of the Blade this turn to get ourselves a really neat sword.
- Location
- Your pantry
- Pronouns
- He/Him
I'd personally prefer to go down the path of the Archmage sooner rather than later. With our increasing understanding of Azyr, it would be wise to pursue melding and the other aspects of Azyr. looking at how little AP we have in comparison to how much we need to do, it'd be a good idea to focus our efforts in one direction, rather than bounce around everywhere. A jack of all trades is a master of none after all.
- Pronouns
- He/Him
I sort of want to do the sword training first just to get it out of the way. Like, I think we do want to go archmage long term, but I think that also requires a lot of dedication to the path, and I'd like to fit in some martial training first while it's still available and we still have time.
- Location
- Hyperborea
The Art of the Blade and The Art of Two doesn't say what kind of Favor they cost. I can guess, but it should be listed.
What I'm getting about the politics is that we need to get everyone involved on the same page: murdering Druchi.
That would serve as a great unifier and help settle the political headaches.
Voikirium
SV's Estalia Guy
- Location
- Ruritania Illinois
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Fixed.