"Are you sure? There is no way this rumor is false? A ruse to bait me out maybe?", Yashar asked, "I can't risk to be baited out by them and you know it". Despite trying his very best to look calm and confident, an experient observer would notice a note of both anger and despair on Yashar's voice.
"I... I wouldn't have came here if I had a doubt, s-sir", the little Skiurid said.
The skiurid was named Devon, in honor to Yashar's childhood friend. Yashar conjured the little squirrel by accident when trying a new spell, as a result the Skiurid lost it's ability to generate darkness by itself. The mage then proceeded to try out more spells on it's new summoned pet, granting him the ability to talk, think and some other minor things. More than a year passed since then, and Devon was now a spy for the mage who, in exchange for it's services, would summon the dark acorns that Devon needed to survive.
"They were gathered in a small room. Back of the tavern. Expensive, but they paid no money to be there", the skiurid talked fast and in short sentences, fast enough to test Yashar's tolerance, "Two guards were in the door to prevent people hearing it. And one dog. Tricking the dog was hard, he can smell me, I hope to get extra for fooling the—"
"Enough!", bursted the mage. If the information was real he had no time to waste and needed to form a plan. He couldn't risk himself to be baited out, but needed to directly intervene before the situation spiraled out of hand. "Repeat what you've heard. Calmly."
Devon took a breath and begun, "They were in the room. Four of them. Two big ones with big weapons and metal clothes. One small with pointy ears. He had a bow. And one tall and weird. He had no weapon, but had a shinny pendant. It was shinning without light." Devon slowly picked up speed up to his usual paced rhythm, "And there was one who did not belong. He was tall and his beard white. But he seemed young. He talked of a book made of skin. He knew the location and how to get there. He talked about old magic imprisioned in a room and of a powerful magic bound to the book. He gave the location to the quartet and talked on how he was working on dispelling some wards."
"Ok, leave now, I need to think", Yashar said pulling a small bag filled with dark acorns and throwing it to Devon "But don't wander too far, I might need you soon". He paced through the room torn between his options.
He knew he couldn't go to the ruins by himself. His tower was being watched. He couldn't see the watchers, or even who they were, but he knew someone, or something, was there. The second he decided to step outside of it and of it's magic protection he would be a dead man. On the other hand, his quest for the book was the reason why he was exiled from human society. This was his first solid lead in many years. And to have some other mage exhausting himself and his own resources to put down the wards was just too much of a perfect oportunity to let go.
"There must be something", he muttered to himself while searching through his books. He went through most of his library when he finally found it, "This! Thank you old friend." One partially burned book stood on Yashar's old hands, with a simple Communication scribled on it's cover. Inside that thin book, nothing but the guidelines for a single ritual was written.
The ritual had been created by Devon, right before his death, and was intended to be used as a way to send a message to a vast number of people. Devon never got around to finish it, so Yashar had to, despite being awful in creating rituals. The original would put one in a transcendent state, allowing them to travel as an energy towards anyone who shared similar desires, or were likely to answer positively to the request that led to the execution of the ritual.
However, Yashar never managed to make it work as intended. He did his very best, working around his own flaws with his limited knowledge of Emphaty and Blood Magic. The way the ritual would work would be fairly different. The life energy of another being would be subjugated to his will, and that energy would be pulled towards anyone who has a natural disposition to help him or his cause. After reaching it's target, the energy would engage in conversation, using of Empathy to read and understand the target's motivation and desires, which would in turn be used as leverage to increase the odds of the request being accepted. It mostly involved small fortunes, old relics or powerful weapons and create a bound that assured anyone who helped it's due pay. Thankfully, Yashar had enough of it to gather a small crew for himself. It wasn't only expensive to pay for the help, it was also expensive for casting. It would need the life energy of a magical being.
Yashar spent the rest of the night gathering his ingredients and formulating the plan. It would be simple: gather a small crew, give them some gear if needed and send them to fetch the book for him. Maybe have them kill the party who was being sent there as well. If he was lucky, they could even deal with that white bearded mage who seemed to know enough to cause him worries. With that in mind he went to sleep for the few hours he could afford.
The morning came soon, lighting up the dark room Yashar slept and waking him up. He woke up decided. What he would need to do next was not something he wanted nor was proud to, but rather what the situation forced him into.
He gathered his ingredients and set the ritual so he could start at any time. Putting on his robe, he left the room to look for Devon, the Skiurid which had become almost a friend to him. In all those years isolated, Devon had been the only one to keep the mage company. At least willingly.
Devon was resting near the fireplace, still half asleep, despite the light of day. "Wake up and come, I need your sevices once again". Hearing that, Devon quickly got up and followed the mage back to his dorm rooms. It wasn't common for his services to be needed with such a short space between them. Devon was half confused by the urgency in Yashar's voice and half excited at the chance of gathering more accorns.
Yashar opened the door, every muscle on his body tensing up with feelings he couldn't describe. He sat in front of the place where the ritual was set and Devon quickly followed. "Errm... What's all that?", asked the little roddent after climbing into the ritual table.
The wizard's movements were robotic. He grabbed Devon with one hand, with the other he broke his fragile neck. He held him upside down, slitting his throat while muttering an inaudible "I'm sorry". He continued with the ritual as if nothing had happened. He drained the little body of it's blood over a silver bowl, he threw the ingredients in it at the expected order and he said the words in the ancient tongue. A small dark orb floated over the bowl, now empty.
"For those who shall hear me, listen to what I say!", Yashar exclamated to noone at all. His voice echoing in the empty walls of the room. "I request your help! Aid me in my quest and you shall be greatly rewarded for your time. There is little I don't have. There is little I can't obtain. Aid me and whatever you can desire shall be yours!"
As soon as he fished the words, the dark orb absorbed Devon's body, becoming a dark silhouette of the dead Skiurid and left the room. Nothing but the silver bowl was left in the table. As the silhouette flew away, a single tear rolled through Yashar's face. It was done.
"I... I wouldn't have came here if I had a doubt, s-sir", the little Skiurid said.
The skiurid was named Devon, in honor to Yashar's childhood friend. Yashar conjured the little squirrel by accident when trying a new spell, as a result the Skiurid lost it's ability to generate darkness by itself. The mage then proceeded to try out more spells on it's new summoned pet, granting him the ability to talk, think and some other minor things. More than a year passed since then, and Devon was now a spy for the mage who, in exchange for it's services, would summon the dark acorns that Devon needed to survive.
"They were gathered in a small room. Back of the tavern. Expensive, but they paid no money to be there", the skiurid talked fast and in short sentences, fast enough to test Yashar's tolerance, "Two guards were in the door to prevent people hearing it. And one dog. Tricking the dog was hard, he can smell me, I hope to get extra for fooling the—"
"Enough!", bursted the mage. If the information was real he had no time to waste and needed to form a plan. He couldn't risk himself to be baited out, but needed to directly intervene before the situation spiraled out of hand. "Repeat what you've heard. Calmly."
Devon took a breath and begun, "They were in the room. Four of them. Two big ones with big weapons and metal clothes. One small with pointy ears. He had a bow. And one tall and weird. He had no weapon, but had a shinny pendant. It was shinning without light." Devon slowly picked up speed up to his usual paced rhythm, "And there was one who did not belong. He was tall and his beard white. But he seemed young. He talked of a book made of skin. He knew the location and how to get there. He talked about old magic imprisioned in a room and of a powerful magic bound to the book. He gave the location to the quartet and talked on how he was working on dispelling some wards."
"Ok, leave now, I need to think", Yashar said pulling a small bag filled with dark acorns and throwing it to Devon "But don't wander too far, I might need you soon". He paced through the room torn between his options.
He knew he couldn't go to the ruins by himself. His tower was being watched. He couldn't see the watchers, or even who they were, but he knew someone, or something, was there. The second he decided to step outside of it and of it's magic protection he would be a dead man. On the other hand, his quest for the book was the reason why he was exiled from human society. This was his first solid lead in many years. And to have some other mage exhausting himself and his own resources to put down the wards was just too much of a perfect oportunity to let go.
"There must be something", he muttered to himself while searching through his books. He went through most of his library when he finally found it, "This! Thank you old friend." One partially burned book stood on Yashar's old hands, with a simple Communication scribled on it's cover. Inside that thin book, nothing but the guidelines for a single ritual was written.
The ritual had been created by Devon, right before his death, and was intended to be used as a way to send a message to a vast number of people. Devon never got around to finish it, so Yashar had to, despite being awful in creating rituals. The original would put one in a transcendent state, allowing them to travel as an energy towards anyone who shared similar desires, or were likely to answer positively to the request that led to the execution of the ritual.
However, Yashar never managed to make it work as intended. He did his very best, working around his own flaws with his limited knowledge of Emphaty and Blood Magic. The way the ritual would work would be fairly different. The life energy of another being would be subjugated to his will, and that energy would be pulled towards anyone who has a natural disposition to help him or his cause. After reaching it's target, the energy would engage in conversation, using of Empathy to read and understand the target's motivation and desires, which would in turn be used as leverage to increase the odds of the request being accepted. It mostly involved small fortunes, old relics or powerful weapons and create a bound that assured anyone who helped it's due pay. Thankfully, Yashar had enough of it to gather a small crew for himself. It wasn't only expensive to pay for the help, it was also expensive for casting. It would need the life energy of a magical being.
Yashar spent the rest of the night gathering his ingredients and formulating the plan. It would be simple: gather a small crew, give them some gear if needed and send them to fetch the book for him. Maybe have them kill the party who was being sent there as well. If he was lucky, they could even deal with that white bearded mage who seemed to know enough to cause him worries. With that in mind he went to sleep for the few hours he could afford.
The morning came soon, lighting up the dark room Yashar slept and waking him up. He woke up decided. What he would need to do next was not something he wanted nor was proud to, but rather what the situation forced him into.
He gathered his ingredients and set the ritual so he could start at any time. Putting on his robe, he left the room to look for Devon, the Skiurid which had become almost a friend to him. In all those years isolated, Devon had been the only one to keep the mage company. At least willingly.
Devon was resting near the fireplace, still half asleep, despite the light of day. "Wake up and come, I need your sevices once again". Hearing that, Devon quickly got up and followed the mage back to his dorm rooms. It wasn't common for his services to be needed with such a short space between them. Devon was half confused by the urgency in Yashar's voice and half excited at the chance of gathering more accorns.
Yashar opened the door, every muscle on his body tensing up with feelings he couldn't describe. He sat in front of the place where the ritual was set and Devon quickly followed. "Errm... What's all that?", asked the little roddent after climbing into the ritual table.
The wizard's movements were robotic. He grabbed Devon with one hand, with the other he broke his fragile neck. He held him upside down, slitting his throat while muttering an inaudible "I'm sorry". He continued with the ritual as if nothing had happened. He drained the little body of it's blood over a silver bowl, he threw the ingredients in it at the expected order and he said the words in the ancient tongue. A small dark orb floated over the bowl, now empty.
"For those who shall hear me, listen to what I say!", Yashar exclamated to noone at all. His voice echoing in the empty walls of the room. "I request your help! Aid me in my quest and you shall be greatly rewarded for your time. There is little I don't have. There is little I can't obtain. Aid me and whatever you can desire shall be yours!"
As soon as he fished the words, the dark orb absorbed Devon's body, becoming a dark silhouette of the dead Skiurid and left the room. Nothing but the silver bowl was left in the table. As the silhouette flew away, a single tear rolled through Yashar's face. It was done.
