The Magecraft Chronicles: IC

[Myrdraxxis]

-



Stories often grow from small beginnings. Crisis oftentimes spawn from unnoticed events, seen by few. Even fewer recognize the signs, see the storm clouds gathering on the horizon and know to prepare for the dark times ahead.

The town of Brisban had once been a thriving Megolin community of three thousand people. The picture of rural Megolin life in a peaceful valley that did not see all too many visitors. A quiet community of nice folk and modest trade, with little worry about the world outside of their home.
It was unfortunate, Arrick thought, that no one would ever discover the truth of Brisban’s fate.

The town was burning.

A wall of flames wreathed the city in a blaze that chocked the life out of the town as smoke clogged the sky above it.
Arrick walked through the town, seemingly unconcerned with the blaze around him. His gaze was locked dead ahead, towards the town square at the end of the street, where a single figure stood, arms stretched upwards and laughing madly towards the heavens.

“I’d say we’ve found the source.” Arrick observed, his tone neutral. He hadn’t seen a survivor since he’d arrived in Brisban. He hadn’t seen any bodies either, which made him wonder about the fates of the townsfolk. Something told him he didn’t want to know.

”These fires have been raging for far too long to be caused naturally. I recognize the device used to cause this.” The ring on Arrick’s left middle finger glowed faintly as a deep voice emanated from within.

"That thing you were telling me about earlier, right?"

“The Soul Furnace.” The voice spoke again. ”A device that burns a being’s very soul and allows the wielder to consume it.” he said clinically. Arrick glanced sideways at the flames around them. He grimaced. Well, there was his answer.

“Your people made some pretty messed up stuff, Solomon.” Arrick muttered as he continued his path towards the source of the disaster. The man’s cackling and the roar of the fire muffled Arrick’s words, and it appeared that their prey hadn’t noticed Arrick yet.

”Be cautious. If he has consumed the entire town, then their lifeforces will have augmented his power.” the voice, Solomon, warned. Arrick grunted and came to a stop at the edge of the town square.

The man standing in the center of the town was rather short in stature, his figure garbed in a simple worn brown cloak that did nothing to hide his emaciated form. Ringlets of greasy hair hid maddened bloodshot eyes and every laugh exposed a mouth full of broken and missing teeth.
Alastor Drey, once a proud and powerful member of the Megolin Mage Knights, now a babbling madman. Arrick had seen similar scenes before, and often wondered if the price of the power offered by Celestial artifacts was truly worth it.

The madman Alastor’s laughter trailed off as turned finally noticing Arrick. The man stared at him for a long minute, mouthing moving as if to speak. Finally he did speak. “You.” He said, voice raspy and broken. “I know who you are. He said you would come here. I didn’t believe him, yet here you are.”

Arrick ignored the man’s rambling. “You’ve been playing with some very dangerous toys, Mr. Drey.” He said. “It’s time to end all of this.” As he spoke, Arrick held out his hand. ”Avak!” he barked the short incantation, and an ethereal halberd appeared in his grip.

Alastor laughed. “My power has multiplied tenfold! You can’t hope to face me!” he shouted, his voice tinged with hysteria. Arrack gave his conjured weapon a few test swings and then pointed it at his foe.

“Never know until you try.” Arrick grinned, and then charged.

~][~



The world of Mundus Magica once again stands on the edge of cataclysm. Tensions between the two great nations of Megolin and Hyddick once again begin to mount, and war becomes ever more certain. Ancient secrets long buried by time begin to resurface, bringing madness, suffering and destruction with their resurrection. The heroes of the world have begun to fade, and the god that once protected the world has vanished. And beyond all this, an unseen evil tries to claw its way back into the world. The darkness gathers once more.


The Magecraft Chronicles



_

[ImDizzy]

The cold ocean wind blew across the deck of the boat, causing many of the passengers to shrink back into covered section of the small ferry. The day was clear, but cold as many tended to be close to the ocean around Altinor. Only a single figure other than the scurrying sailors that kept the boat on the right track stood out in the direct path of the wind. The man in the fairly thick traveling cloak received many odd looks from the sailors who only kept warm by their constant movement. Although he didn't seem to notice as he kept his eye on the rapidly approaching shoreline ahead of the ferry and the port town that grew larger and larger.

Joren was much too excited about finally leaving Altinor earlier that morning to study the ruins of the Frontier that he didn't even register the cold. Studying books and learning facts was all fine and dandy, but actually getting to discover pieces of the old civilization and participate in history being rediscovered was completely different. His stomach growled, letting him know that noon had already passed. He opened the pack slung over his shoulder and rummaged through it until he brought out a small container filled with a mixture of dried fruit and nuts. He took out a handful and snacked on it as he thought about what he was going to do when he got to Valkyrie's Landing, the port town that was on the Frontier side of the channel. There supposedly was an outpost of the university there, so Joren was planning to stop by it first to see what areas the university were currently excavating. Hopefully the archaeology liaison for the university in South Point, the port town opposite Valkyrie's Landing, was telling the truth when he said someone in the town that had an idea of how Joren could help.

A touch on his shoulder caused him to jump slightly as he was jolted out of his reverie. "Sir? Could you go sit with the other passengers? We are approaching the docks, so it would help if you could leave our workspace unblocked." Joren turned to see a young sailor with a somewhat nervous look speaking to him.

"Oh! Yes, of course. I'll move if you need me to...," Joren stammered out after his heart slowed down its pace slightly, "Do you know how long it will take to get to shore?"

"Just about 15 minutes, sir," the sailor replied before he rushed off in a hurry. Joren shrugged and made his way over to where the rest of the passengers were huddled out of the path of the wind and took a seat. He finally began to notice the cold and shuddered as his body reacted to it. Several runes on the cloak became visible as they glowed red and Joren noticeably warmed up. He was very glad he had enchanted the cloak in that way; it was a bit difficult to get the cloak to follow 'if' instructions through the enchantment, but it was very worth it when he had finally figured it out. Now all there was for him to do was wait.

[Sariel of Tevet]

“What th…bleck!” A guard doubled over and slumped to the ground, choking on what little blood he seemed to have left.

Eleazar wiped the blood off of his shadow dagger and onto his leggings. This served no purpose really other than to prove a body count to himself, if he wanted to truly just clean the blade he would whisk it away and create a new one out of thin air. The rest of the blood he drew up off the floor and guided it into a leather pouch attached to his hip.

“Well now that the tower is taken out, that is six mooks down and about twenty more in the barracks from what I observed yesterday. Good thing this area is well out of range to the full military complex, there is no way I could take out an entire base on my own in one night. This may take a good week or more.”

He sighed and jumped from the guard tower and spread out his shadow cloak to slow his descent. Even though it only lasts a couple of seconds, Eleazar loved how liberating free fall was. It seemed he had spent the majority of his life on his own now, so freedom was all he really had. He tucked and rolled as his feet collided with the ground and took off in a sprint towards the first door of the barracks. Once he reached the door he simply walked through the shadow looming over the entryway and appeared through the shadow on the other side of the door. The only thing he loved more than free fall was night time. It seemed like the whole world was just a giant portal for him to walk through and manipulate.

He heard voices and slowly made his way towards the nearest door. Hmmmm. Sounds like there are only two of them, seems simple enough. Eleazar smirked and formed a throwing knife in either hand and spun them to check the balance. Easy. He dove across the doorway and tossed the knives, hitting both their marks in the forehead. His eyes widened as he fell, he hadn’t heard the third man in the corner pouring himself a drink. He couldn’t afford the noise. Right before he crashed to the ground he drew out the blood from his pouch and shot it straight through the throat of the last man. Eleazar hit the ground and laid their flat on his back. I have to be more careful. I’ve never taken out a building this big before, I can’t afford any mishaps. He stood up, brushed himself off, and looked at the damage. Two men were slouched back in their chairs, holes straight through their frontal lobes and incapacitated. The third was still gargling a bit with a hole in his throat, so Eleazar pulled out the rest of the man’s blood to refill the pouch and watched the life drain from the man’s eyes.

He continued down the hallway, clearing room by room, the body count crowing higher and well into the teens now. He had finally reached the armory now. All of the runes and magic boosting equipment are kept in here, if he could take this room out it would definitely put a dent in the army in the area. He concentrated and locked onto the blood flow of the guard on the other side of the door, taking him over as his puppet. He forced the man to look around the room and saw three men staring into a box of runes, a guard standing on the opposite side of the door of the controlled man, and two more soldiers smoking at a table and playing cards.

“Damn,” he whispered under his breath. “How will I get past these two guards without either group of soldiers seeing me. For an armory it sure isn’t that big of a room. Wait, that’s it. I can’t get through that door, but maybe more soldiers can.”

Eleazar stood up and ran through the building looking for the two least mutilated soldiers he could find and raised them. They walked back to the armory and ordered his new feral playthings through the door, saluted the doormen for good measure, and had them walk to either side of the room to the group of soldiers that occupied their respective end. Well, here goes nothing. He brought his hands together, closed his eyes, locked on to the two bloodbags under his control, and threw his hands apart causing the feral soldiers to explode and take out the surrounding soldiers. He bolted through the door and grabbed hold of the two doormen by their skulls and released shadow spikes from his palms, and then dropped them to the floor. He stood back and admired his work. There was more blood than he could have ever hoped for, not to mention most of the inventory was destroyed as well and scattered all across the room. “Too bad I won’t be around to see the look on the face of whatever guy finds this tomorrow. I sure wish sneaking around in the day were easi…”

“Hey! Who the hell are you?!” A soldier, startled by the explosion, came running out of the armory bathroom with his pants still only half pulled up. He didn’t bother pulling them up the rest of the way, his jaw dropped when he saw the carnage of the room. He released the hold on his pants and shot an incredible beam of light through the window. Eleazar held on to the man’s blood, forced him to pull his pants up and buckle them before exploding the poor soul.

“Crap. That other complex was sure to have seen that light, I better get out of here.” He took off running but by the time he got near town there was well over fifty soldiers on his heels and the sun was beginning to come up. He was running out of shadows to hide in. He found the nearest dead end alleyway and shrouded himself and the wall into a shadow. A platoon of soldiers ran past the wall, but one stopped at the entrance of the alley and stared at the wall.

“Sarg! Hey everyone you better get back here look at this!” The men stammered back to the alley and they closed in on Eleazar a bit.

The sergeant stared at the wall, and then looked up at the sun. “Boys”, he said through a smile, “we have ourselves a shadow mage. There is no way there would be a shadow on that entire wall with the sun pointed directly at it. Go ahead, come on out. You messed up.” Each soldier raised their hands up and encased them in fire, ready to hurl it at Eleazar as soon as he made a wrong move.

He morphed out of the wall with his hands up, he was trapped. “Crap..”

[Heratic]

"Wake up Mektoki, Wake up... Alright enough of this." With a loud thump and a blow to the head, Mektoki was awaken by his Music Teacher. "Did you have a nice nap?"

"Nap... It's called sleeping, and you should try it sometime old man," he said rubbing the knot on his head. "What time is it? The sun isn't even up yet."

His teacher, seeming to ignore his complaints said, "Oh, what was that? For today's training you would like to hit the fourth octave? Way to take the initiative in preparation for your trial boy. I'm sure that if you put this amount of energy into all of your studies, you'll surely pass your trials with ease. Now come along and get dressed. Today is going to be a long one for you. Remember you only have a few weeks left to prepare, so lets not waste anymore time. In all honesty, I don't even know how you can sleep, especially with all the pressure you put on yourself." With that his teacher made his way to the door.

"Well you can't be the best with no sleep old man!" He got up and stretching his back and arms. As his teacher walked out the door, Mektoki shouted, "Wait! .... What do you mean four octaves?!" With that, his door slammed, and he was left to get ready. Walking over to his wardrobe, he grabbed his armor and put it on. He then walked to his mirror and brushed his hair, going over the spot he was hit in a delicate manner. "I wonder..." he thought to himself, and placed his hands on his head and began to concentrate. He felt power flow through his body, to his hands, and then in turn to his skull. Removing his hands from his head, he noticed that his lump was gone. "I actually an starting to get the hang of this healing stuff." Tying his hair into a braid, he left his room and headed toward the music room in the house.

Upon walking in the door, all three of his teachers stood there waiting. "It's about time boy. Now lets get started."

[Mizagium]

"Did you hear?" A girl whispered loudly to her companion, another girl of similar age. The first was a human, the second a hellan.

"Hear what?"

"Someone attacked one of the Dark Wing shipyards!"

"What again?"

Vesperita slowed her pace through the thickening crowd of New Vesperitas. She never really forgave her parents for naming her after a damn city! Sure, it was also the name of a up-and-coming mythical hero, but still. Come on, mom and dad. Really? Evan and Jerrick don't have either of those burdens placed upon them. No - their names are perfectly reasonable names with likely no stigmas attached to them whatsoever. She huffed. Whatever.

"Mhm," the human girl continued. "Some guys at school were saying it was the Martyr's Children, but these other guys said the Warriors of Ossen were taking credit for it. But these OTHER guys - "

Realizing the shallow well of information had run dry, Vesperita resumed her gait and shoved (as gently as she could) through the throng of pedestrians. Most of them were pushing against her, heading to the scene of the crime, she realized. Something akin to anger welled up inside her and she was overcome with the desire to stop time, set something on fire, and fly off on a summoned dragon spirit. Of course, she did none of those things, but she really wanted to. Maybe not the fire or the time spells...but flying away, leaving this crowd, this city...this country behind was -

No. Things needed to be done.

Preparations had to be made.

An aging uncle had to be visited.

She boarded the late-morning airship from New Vesperita to Kohona City, and from there would have to take the carriage out to Taerae Village. And from there it was just a few miles to Uncle Addy's summoning school. She sighed again. And if she was lucky, he might only talk for a few hours, giving her just enough time to get home in time to miss supper and get an earful from her father about his crazy old cousin-or-something.

Standard day.

[Marx]

The nature of our world is to resist change,
Though this is something Maleo is determined to correct.

Across the barren wasteland many refer to as the Ceberus Desert, an oasis sits among a sea of sand, its expansive grassy woods a defiance at the very nature of the desert which seeks to choke all life and turn all green to dying brown. Over a century has passed since the death of the oasis in question nearly came to pass and in such a short time, the oasis has grown over twenty kilometers in size, dwarfing all other patches of greenery among the sea of brown, as well as most of the desert cities. In the time a single tree takes to reach maturity, an entire forest has grown within the most inhospitable of lands known to Mendus Magica, housing a larger variety of life than the jungles of Elbron and more mystery than the entirety of the Frontier. All of which is the fruits of a mage's labor known simply as Maleo, the keeper of the Oasis. His stature is that of legend, immense in size, though infinite in gentleness. Since Maleo's youth, only four have ever met death at the hands of the bringer of life, and each of those were attempting to lay waste of Maleo's century of dedication. Their remains made wonderful fertilizer though or so the flora assured their loving caretaker.

Maleo's stride was that of five men as he slowly moved about the Oasis, the branches of trees bending themselves around his antlers, nature in perfect harmony with the aged wizard. The wards stood in defense, inbued with the outskirts of the oasis, bound to the grass which grew outwards, assuring his home would always remain safe. There were few places where one could experience true peace without the cost of death and it was within the Oasis that Maleo found his true peace. The grass glowed in the wake of his every step and wherever he traveled, the animals of his land would sing in harmony, placing a disarming sensation among those not behind its effects. It was a place of wonder which Maleo brimmed with pride to see and as he reached the heart of his home, a pool of crystalline water, that he took his rest from the daily round of ensuring the oasis was without strange visitors and that the flora and fauna alike were brimming with life. He took a seat against the largest tree of his grove, taking rest on a throne of vine and bark, one which only a giant could find comfort in. It was there, in his moment of rest that a distant sensation of life graced his mind, a ward giving notice of a visitor in his wood, one who he had come to see as kin, a young man of Hellan blood who believed he held debt to the keeper of the Oasis.

His eyes shut in peace as his hands rested atop his lap, his mind becoming one with the oasis, allowing him to reach out and touch all forms of life within his wood. He held a particular fondness to the hippogryph that was brought to him by a traveler as an egg. From its youth, it was a rebellious creature much like the young Hellan, and the antlers which sprouted from its eagle-like head captured his heart for the strange beast. It was a beast now twenty-seven years in age, still youthful as it had been in its earliest years. The hippogryph had begun to travel further than it once had, only returning on rare occasion to drink from the heart of the oasis and nuzzle its beak in Maleo's feathers as a young child would bury its face in a father's chest. His search among the wood had only served reminded him that his first 'child' had yet to return from its flight, but he longed to once again see the young hippogryph. Though it was quite pleasing to see his youngest child, the young Hellan, was returning from his latest escapade, perhaps with stories of intrigue or news of the outside world. It mattered not what the Hellan had to share though, for Maleo would still listen with unyielding interest.

The Arcane arts can forge weapons from nothingness,
a rather useful to have as a lifelong duelist in the Ceberus Arenas.

"It brings warms my old heart to see you've returned, my child." a voice as deep as the trenches of the sea rang out to a young Hellan who had just recently returned to the Oasis of the horrid Ceberus Deserts. The young Hellan, known among arena duelists as Sven, the Spellsword of Ceberus, pulled down his cloth cowl, revealing his smiling face to the ancient druid. "Hello, my old friend." Sven called to the hulking hybrid of beastmen and man. "Well.." the old druid began, waving a hand, his golden eyes opening to look at the Hellan. "Well...?" returned Sven, a smile flickering across his face, knowing full well what the old naturist was looking for, "Would you like to know of what I had done?" Maleo's eyes once again closed, a large smile growing across his face, "Yes. Yes, I would."

Several days prior; The roar of the crowd was all that could be heard as Sven stepped into the circular arena, his armour and weapons limited solely to what he was wearing, a loose pair of pants and a faded yellow cowl. The opponent, a fusion between man and crocodile stepped onto the arena, his tail violently swaying back and forth, his weapons including his teeth and claws, as well as a large crescent shaped blade the size of Sven. The match up seemed fair enough, a Hellan which stood at 5'11 against a reptilian beastman who was only slightly above seven feet. The rythmatic sound of drums began, the crowd's noise softening to a hush as the two combatants slowly began to circle the arena, eyes glued to one another. Until the drums stopped, they were to remain circling without the usage of any spells or weapons, much to the annoyance of Sven. The drums began to climax, the tempo reaching an all-time high before the beat suddenly cut, the reptilian known as Garosh charging forth, letting out a vicious hiss as he swung his blade wildly. Near moments before meeting the blade with his torso, Sven managed to gasp out "Proctae, cealum" causing an armour of pure energy to form across his body, mimicking the style of a typical knight, though with much more powerful material. Steel or iron would've immediately been shred by Garosh's grimblade, though unlike the two metals, Arcane was infinitely more powerful. It lasted two strikes before shattering into millions of pieces, leaving Sven once again defenseless.

Perhaps not infinitely stronger than metal.

Sven immediately turned to a roll, Garosh swinging his blade down again and again, chasing after the fleeing Hellan who was now on his feet, kicking up dust behind him as he made his way across the arena. Unlike most contenders, the reptilian would be immune to his typical trick of lobbing a handful of sand into his opponents eyes. The distance between the two was quickly being closed and Sven took to the wall, a tremendous bow of gleaming light materializing with the mere utterance of "Iuori," the name of his beloved weapon. Sven swung his body around, dropping on his ass to allow momentum to carry him forth as his took aim, drawing his hand along the thin air within the bow like a harp, arrows of energy spewing out towards Garosh. A few arrows managed to make it beyond the swinging blade, though only a no more than five made contact, three of which harmlessly bounced off the thick hide. Two did puncture the belly of the large beast, causing him to stumble in his charge. Sven saw the opportunity and clenched his fist, drawing it back across the air before releasing his grip, a blunt arrow shooting forward toward the stumbling behemoth. When it made contact with Garosh's stomach, not only did it knock him backward, but simultaneously emptied him of his stomach and his bowels.

"It was a victory. Not a pleasant one, but a victory none the less." Sven admitted, looking at the ground with a slight twinge of embarrassment for what had transpired in the fight. It was an honest mistake, honestly; Who eats an entire pig before entering armed combat?

[Nergal]

COUGH! COUGH! COUGH!

Harsh, unearthly wheezing sounds forced their way out of Jin's throat as he sat at a desk in his study room. It was a fairly modest, cramped room, especially when compared to the rest of his home. Just large enough to hold his hand carved wooden desk, a hand carved wooden chair and a hand carved wooden shelf lined with decade-old magical tomes, the room bore no windows and only a single door that locked via a key from the inside. As a result, there was virtually no air circulation in this room whatsoever and it should not have come as a surprise that Jin was close to coughing up one or more vital organs.

"Damn it! Not now!" he rasped, slamming his clenched fists against his desk. The wood beneath his hands began to sizzle from the prolonged contact, Jin's hands literally burning in rage. "I need to go outside," he muttered, stomping over to the locked study door. After fiddling with the lock for a minute or two, Jin came to the realization that he hadn't seen the key to this room in months - maybe even years. He had been in there continuously for a long while, staving off things that may have prevented him from leaving (such as hunger or thirst) with necromancy. Deciding that searching for the key would be a futile effort, Jin whipped around and pointed the index finger of his right hand toward the wall opposite the locked door. "Hellfire Silencer!" he shouted. Wisps of dark red fire manifested in the air around his hand before concentrating themselves into a single, thin beam of pulsing energy emanating from his finger. The beam was designed to completely incinerate anything it came into contact with in a controlled fashion, originally as a method of single-target assassinations. Now its properties rendered it the perfect spell for escaping a house. Jin guided the beam by moving his finger, tracing a large circle into the wall. When he was done with the spell, the energy around his finger dispersed and he was left with a nice, clean hole from which he could leave the house.

Jin stepped outside and immediately recoiled at the cool morning air. He lived on a rather large island - perhaps the size of a small town - near the equator of the world, so the weather was generally warm most of the year. With no other bodies of land to shield the island, however, it was not uncommon for a stray wind to bring cold air from one continent or another. After another round of coughing, Jin growled "Grr...This is a horrible day. A really, really horrible day. I feel like I'm on the verge of death, I've still got a thousand more spells to write down in my book, and it's too COLD! HELLFIRE VORTEX!" Reflexively, Jin had spoken the name of his favorite spell, and no sooner had he uttered the last syllable did a cyclonic pillar of dark red fire erupt from around his body. "Better," he muttered, "but that still doesn't take care of my other two problems. If I don't finish that spell within a few more years, I'm done. My soul is trying to tear itself apart, and my body is paying the price for it." Jin thought about what he had just said and laughed. "Hahahaha. That's it. I need a body. But even the most advanced necromantic arts couldn't...fully replace...a body." He trailed off as he realized the absurdity of what he had just said. "Jin, you were once one of the most powerful sorcerers in this world. If you can't find a way, then perhaps you deserve to die!"

With newly found motivation, Jin (still surrounded by a a vortex of flame) ran to one end of his island and dipped his left foot into the surrounding ocean. Fire traveled along his foot and into the sea, instantly evaporating any water it came into contact with. Through the thick cloud of appearing steam, he saw dozens of dead fish float to the top of the ocean. Jin greedily scooped some up and, with a wicked smirk plastered across his face, he ran back into his mansion. While any normal man would have been happy to have seen food for the first time in several months, Jin was grateful for an entirely different reason. Where one man would see fresh food to eat, he saw fresh flesh to work with. Jin was a necromancer by trade, and there was studying to be done...

[Torack]

Rovan marched with his army across the vast, eternal desert of Ceberus. A desert his people once called home, a hell made of sand, bodies, and stone. The amount of bodies in the desert alone would be a necromancer's paradise. And that's one of the reasons why he was sent to this hell.

The Hyddick Military is anxious about the coming war, they can feel it their bones, and taste it in their food. Many, including Rovan have trouble sleeping at night, for no one knows when or who will make the first move to make this cold war into a full-out blown war. The Hyddick military sent Rovan here for that reason exactly. His mission: to quell any rebellius tribes - destroy them if need be, and recruit others under the bannar of the Hyddick Confederation.

Making his way through the sand, Rovan's mouth was covered with a peice of cloth, his black horns shining in the brightness of the cruelty of the merciless sun. Everywhere he looked was sand and more sand. How he learned to navigate such a death trap amazed even him. Sweat was secreted out of his body at a rate that would render most dehydrated, but like all Hyddick military men, Rovan was trained under the toughest situations to handle almost any terrain or trauma caused by nature.

Tired as he was, though he refuses to admit or show it, he kept going. He needed to reach the next village. So far, all the villages, tribes, and bedouins behind him rebelled and he had no choice but to get rid of them. His army needed allies in this desert, people who knew it like the back of their hands. As he was deep in thought, like he always is during trecking through the desert, His second in command "Sir! Look!" he said rather urgently. Rovan thinking a band of bandits or raiders turned to where his second in command, Leukara, was pointing with his hand on his hilt. What he saw instead puzzled him slightly.

Was he hallucinating? Unlikely, he heard the commotion of his army behind him, meaning they were able to see it too. What they saw was a large patch of an oasis, larger than they have ever crossed before. His guts harboring with suspicion, he ordered his men to be on the ready as they slowly made their way to the oasis.

Rovan saw this as a trap, perhaps it was, perhaps it wasn't. But it all signs point to it being a trick. Probably the trickery of an illusionist. His army knows how many times they've been ambushed by greedy, ambitions, and idiotic illusionists in this death trap. Considering the oasis was large, this must be the work of a skilled illusionist.

When they were fifteen meters from the oasis, Rovan activated his wards and signaled his archers to be on the ready while simultaneously easing his foot soldiers and ordering several cavalryman to scout ahead to find any traps, or deactivate the illusion by going through it. The scouts went around the border of the oasis looking for any traps or seeing if it were an illusion. Agreeing that it wasn't they returned confirming the reality of the oasis.

Nodding, he told his Lieutenant to watch over the army in case of any ambushes and made his way into the oasis with his second in command.

[Myrdraxxis]

Arrick stared down at the Soul Furnace, reflecting on how small and utterly harmless it looked. It was a small thing, a simple ebony-colored cube with a small flame engraved on the side. He tossed it up in the air and caught it casually, turning to look around at the burnt out husks of homes and the piles of ash that littered the ruins.
It looked harmless, but like all Celestial remnants it destroyed everything it touched.

”You should be more careful handling it.” Solomon cautioned. Arrick grunted an acknowledgment and ceased fiddling with the device.

It was inactive now, but he wasn’t entirely sure what turned it back on again, so it was better to play it safe. The fires that had raged across Brisban had died out almost instantly when Alastor Drey had fallen. Arrick glanced over at the corpse of the once-psychopath. It had been a tough fight, a lot tougher than Arrick was expecting and now sported a few new burns, cuts and a limp for his lack of forethought.

“I suppose there’s only one thing left to do.” He mused, turning his attention to the artifact in his hand. He always hated this part. “Solomon.”

”Right.”

Arrick grimaced as he felt a sliver of Solomon’s existence flow out of the ring on his hand, up his arm and into him. It was an eerie feeling, sharing your body with another, and over time Arrick probably would have died from having even a fraction of the Celestial’s consciousness dwell within him. It was why Solomon communicated with him through his ring. Solomon couldn’t physically manifest in Mundus Magica, only deliver vague messages across the wall of reality that separated them. Using a physical medium strengthened the connection between Arrick and….wherever it was that Solomon was. He’d never asked Solomon about where the Celestial dwelled. It never came up and to be honest arrick wasn’t sure he really wanted to know.

Pain flashed across his arm and Arrick hissed as a gout of white flame leapt to life in his palm, bathing the Soul Furnace in Solomon’s power. It wasn’t fire…not really. Arrick was pretty sure he was just seeing fire because his brain couldn’t recognize what Solomon’s power truly looked like.

He suppressed a shudder and watched as the Soul Furnace burned away in his hand until only a small pile of ash remained. The “fire” faded away and Solomon’s presence receded back into the ring.

”It is finished.”. the Celestial declared. There was a brief pause. ”Are you well, Arrick?. Solomon asked, though it sounded like a forced concern, as if he was more curious about the response than anything and only tacked on a facsimile of empathy for Arrick’s benefit. Arrick was used to it. Solomon was a good partner, but very goal-oriented, with little thought towards…well, people in general. The fact that he asked after Arrick at all showed that he was at least trying.

“Fine. It always feels a bit weird, is all.” Arrick said, waving it off. Solomon hummed thoughtfully but said nothing else. Arrick sighed and turned his gaze towards the horizon. They were near the coast, which meant it would be at least a two hour walk back towards the port, and then another seven hours to the Megolin-Mesbaria.

Without a word he began walking.

~][~

Casimir strode through town with no particular destination in mind. His thoughts were heavy, as they always were these days, and didn’t even notice the way his rather menacing appearance seemed the making everyone else rush to get out of his way. He’d gotten used to it. The shade had arrived in this small Hyddick town a couple of days ago, chasing after a rumor of a cache of summoning scrolls ( rumor that had proven to be false). Little grabbed his interest much except his curiosity for summoning magic, and without that to occupy his time Casimir felt himself at a loss. Of all the ways his life had changed since leaving the Darkened Isles, the one change he couldn’t get used to was the amount of free time he had. As a knight he had filled his days with training, guarding his lady and even clashing against another House in some of the petty disputes that came to blows.

Now, he had none of that. The long hours were empty and seemed to mock him with the absence of the life he’d cherished.

Casimir shook off the dark thoughts as he noticed that he had wandered to the edge of town, towards the local military encampment. This town wasn’t large enough to afford a fortress, but instead set up a military camp a little ways from town.

The shade began to turn away when he noticed the panicked shouts coming from back down the rode, near an alley between two of the buildings. A few hellan soldiers rushed past with weapons drawn. Casimir waited a beat, then followed them, his curiosity winning out.

The soldiers were gathered around what appeared to be a rather conspicuous splotch of shadow on the alley wall, weapons drawn and eager for blood. Casimir was about to pass it off as just a strange hellan thing when one of them spoke.

“We have ourselves a shadow mage. There is no way there would be a shadow on that entire wall with the sun pointed directly at it. Go ahead, come on out. You messed up.”
A shadow mage? Well, that made sense, the shade supposed. Now he was curious as to why the local garrison was harassing a shadow mage.

“Hey.” He spoke tersely, getting the attention of the guards. One turned and shot him an irritated glance, which was replaced with a rather dubious look when he took in the sight of the night-armored shade.

“Get back, civilian. Military business.” The hellan growled. Casamir tilted his head, regarding the hellan. He didn’t need any trouble with the local authorities. On the other…

“Why?”

The hellan guard wasn’t feeling all that nice at the moment, having just discovered the bodies of his fellow soldiers and running high on adrenaline and anger.“What are you deaf? I said get back, ya vagabond scum!”

Casimir bristled, feeling his anger rising now. It was a petty insult, but Casimir felt it strike home all the same, reminding him once again of his status. He may be exiled now, but his was still the honor of a knight, honor that had just been insulted.

Without thinking the shade took a step forward and conjured a longsword of shadows into his hand. "Defend yourself." he said shortly.

"Huh?"

Without a word he swung it, taking off the head of the stunned guard. The others whirled around, seeing the new threat.

“What the-“

“Kill him!”

Wasting no time, Casimir dived into the fray

[damienzd]

"Remember, Qiun. Deep breath, low center. Feel the qi flow with your every movement."

"Yes, Master."

Qiun had been in Megolin for just over a year when he met Master Bingwen. Bingwen had sensed Qiun's potential from the moment he saw him. "Now, speak the mantra, and strike."

"Qi daji!" Qiun struck the training dummy in the chest with his fist, which was glowing with qi, and splintered the wood, creating a spiderweb-shaped figure.

"Good!" said Bingwen, smiling. "I knew that would not be difficult for you."

"Thank you, Master," Qiun replied, bowing to Bingwen. "Shall I come back tomorrow?"

"No," said Bingwen. "Take some time to rest and meditate. You will know when to return."

"Okay," replied Qiun. "I will see you soon, Master."

He left Master Bingwen's home in the Xiolin quarter of Megolin-Mesbaria for his own lodgings: a small house of Xiolinese architecture on the outskirts of the city. When night came, he sat on the mat in his personal quarters and went into his meditative reverie.

A few hours into his sleep, a sudden noise broke his meditation, and he was up in his defensive stance almost instantly. He quickly but quietly moved to the wall next to the door leading to the next room and peeked around the corner. He saw nothing, but he could sense the intruder's qi. Making the correct hand sign and speaking the incantation "fonaar vokun", shadow-stepping behind the intruder. "Qi daji!" he said as he struck, his fist glowing with qi.

The assailant blocked the attack.

"Very good!" said the intruder, his voice familiar.

"Master Bingwen?!"

"In the flesh!" he replied, laughing. "You no longer need my assistance, it seems. You have mastered all that I can teach you. You know where to find me if you ever need a refresher!" With that, Master Bingwen left Qiun's house for his own.

Qiun stood there for what seemed like an eternity before losing himself to a fit of hysterical laughter. He went back to his room and resumed his reverie.

--------

Silas sat beneath a large oak tree near his small arboreal home in the forest outside of Megolin-Mesbaria, watching an older human walking towards what looked like a Xiolinese home.

Hmm, he thought to himself. That's a bit odd, considering it's the middle of the night, and this guy looks old enough to be someone's great-grandfather. He followed the old man to the house and waited outside, listening for anything that sounded like a scuffle. When he heard one, he moved away from the door and waited for the victor to leave. When the old man emerged again, Silas bared his teeth and spoke the words to a spell to cause the grass to entangle the old man. "Earuile waitta!"

The grass grew to extreme lengths and wrapped around the old man...

...only to destroy the illusion he had created.

From behind him, he heard the old man yelling, "Hahaha! Nice try, young man....or should I say, 'young wolf'?"

Silas spun around speaking the incantation beseeching the spirits of air to aid him. "Qo wuld kest!" His hand became enveloped in motes of electricity, and he slung it at the old man, discharging the energy into a bolt of lightning. The old man sidestepped it at the last possible second, chuckling at Silas.

"A shaman? Or a druid? Either way, your abilities are formidable. Learn to use restraint, and they will be that much more powerful. Patience and discipline." With that, the old man walked away.

Silas stood, dumbfounded, unable to give a rebuttal. But it was too late, the old man was out of range for any of his spells.

He checked through the window to find a young human, not much younger than himself, sitting on a mat in meditation. I suppose there's no harm done then.

He walked back to his arboreal home, and laid down to get some sleep.