37th of Frost, Year 119
Things had been prepared well for his initiation. As much as they could have been, at least; the central area of the common room, right of the foyer, had been cleared so that all that remained was a rug beside a fireplace and two bookshelves along the length of the wall. He had been asked by Eloise to sit closer to the back wall, while she would sit before him, curled up with her dress blanketing her legs. She informed him that in order to be a proper mage of Melitene, he would need to learn Transposition; that the risks were largely psychological and were even lessened for him, as a Siltori. That the magic would alleviate many of his fears around distance from Riven, at least if he managed to gain expertise enough to construct actual portals, as she could.
Of course, he noted that he was only ten days beyond the initiation he'd had just prior. New to Summoning, now he was asked to become a Transposer, as well. And like he often did, he saw the merits and he complied. Perhaps because he was a Famished, easily driven. Certainly, it had something to do with that; he could not deny it. Of course, there were other elements too. The... hubris, as Eloise called it. Taelian's innate desire for power, and his pride that he could acquire it without repercussion to seemingly no end.
He was, in his own view, gifted with at least fleeting luck. He had survived the endeavor to slay Lady Glairen, he had made his way through the Elainian Darklands and the Imperial Badlands; he had escaped the clutches of the servitude-obsessed Entente. Summoning had been natural to him; in fact, Sigilic Pyromancer was as well. Taelian had progressed further than almost any Cleric of the Ebon Knights before him. Innately, he did think that he was special.
And perhaps she saw that. Perhaps she played on that. If he survived this initiation, he would resemble more closely the man that she wished him to be, for her own purposes. If not, then he would die, and no time of hers would really be lost in even inducting him. This was the onboarding process; the determination of his value to her. He understood that truth -- but he did not really mind. As much as he felt he was being used, he had much to gain from each initiation. And besides -- his Beacon was strong. It would persevere.
"I am ready," he stated. Eloise nodded.
"Then it will be done."
And it was.
Her fingers, dipped in a somewhat transparent silver-sheen paint, slowly drew towards Taelian's open palm where they eventually began to inscribe the Rune of Transposition. Before long, the Rune was done, and he felt it. He... felt it.
"Ah," he softly voiced. Ether began to flood into him. So much. It was like the Aetherium had opened a rift upon his skin and spewed into him its waste. He felt ill, immediately; nauseous. He grew confused. The area around him became a burden upon his eyes, and within an instant, that area all but vanished.
