Terms And Conditions May Apply [Avamande]

[Imogen]

Searing 84, 122

Imogen hadn't been in the city long before she started thinking about leaving.

It wasn't that she felt any kind of pressing urge to leave, it should be said. She did want to find Carina, of course, and that more than just about anything else, but Imogen was not an impatient woman. She was prepared to watch and wait, or failing that, to pursue some sort of slow and piecemeal strategy to hunt her down. It wasn't as though she was going to get there any faster by throwing a fit and banging on random doors.

No, what concerned Imogen were the logistics of the act. Although the journey from the southern end of Karnor by air had been arduous and taxing, it had also been exceptionally swift and freeing. As Chief Oping had predicted all those months ago, the Rune which had at first seemed like a tool to meet a small goal had blossomed; she had begun to see that with study and practice and thought, Animus could provide her with advantages as a witch that she had never before fathomed.

What it couldn't do, however, was transport her goddamn clothes.

Not just clothes. An albatross' flight might be swift and sure, a cat's tread soft and stealthy, and a lemur's climbing far and exultant, but not one of those beautiful creatures had evolved to carry more than nuts and berries. Maybe a fish, for a very short distance. The point was- none of these animals could do luggage.

At this point, she'd tried small bags, small baskets, hitches for dragging... it simply didn't work. Looming in front of Imogen was the thought of a career in which every time she went to a new city, she'd have to steal an entire Ork-sized wardrobe, and she did not like that.

To that end, she found herself in the Jeweled Arches, standing in front of the humble door and sign reading "Ale'Ephirum". Imogen had no idea what that meant, but it certainly sounded magical, and everyone she'd spoken to had indicated that if there was a solution to "magically, my clothes don't fit", she was most apt to find it here.

The Orkhan woman pushed the door open, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the gloomy entryway beyond.

”Hello? Anyone here?”

[Avamande]

It was perhaps unsurprising that Imogen had no idea what Ale'Ephirum meant, the term coming from a dialect of Vallenor so ancient that even growing up with Mythrasi it was completely meaningless to Avamande the first time they saw it. After consulting several dictionaries, they had reconstructed its meaning as something akin to 'the forgotten ways of the ancients', which at least comported with the level of service that Lyra demanded of its employees. Many old secrets were hidden within its halls, and everyone working for her knew that they were to leverage them to the utmost in service of their clientele.

For the past three seasons, the single largest such client was Kalzasi itself, the war-stricken nation rapidly arming and augmenting the ranks of the Sky Guard with the finest magic that they could think of. Even the nominal end of hostilities after whatever calamity struck Zaichaer tore a rift above its skies had only reduced the amount of business that they received, the military simply reorienting itself to deal with the repercussions of the veil being forced so thin and in such a catastrophic fashion. From the great rift, to the Warrens, to the scourge of the far north, the city's war footing had not let up in the slightest.

Which meant absolutely nothing as far as Lyra, and therefore Ale'Ephirum, was concerned. A customer always received the same service from every employee of the house, so long as they paid. By happenstance, it was Avamande's turn to sit at the desk at the store's front, their habitual dark clothing blending in to the poorly lit atrium. They rose their head from their notebook that they had been sketching experimental pictographs in with mundane ink, placing the pen back in its reservoir as they drew themselves up to their full height to address the Orkhan woman.

"Greetings, madame. How may Ale'Ephirum help you today?"

[Imogen]

"Good afternoon!" Imogen Ward replied, her voice bright and cheerful. Though she was Orkhan, her accent was unmistakably southern Karnor, lilting, each word carefully enunciated. Unlike Orks with larger tusks, she evinced no hesitation in approaching longer or more consonant words. "I have a particular magical issue, and everyone says you're the people to resolve it."

Without further delay, Imogen reached backwards, hand plunging into her pants. Thankfully, whatever illegal acts that might have betokened, her objective was immediately clarified as she produced a long, white tail, evidentially wrapped around her waist.

"You see, I recently came into possession of the Cardinal Rune of Animus, which has been extremely helpful."

Animus of course, was among the oldest known magics, the gift of Aedrin to the people of the world in the times before there were kings and kingdoms at all. It was also possibly the safest magic, not just because the initiation was invariably non-lethal, but because its misuse and abuse could, at worst, produce one chimeric monstrosity. It was also, perhaps relatedly, not one which many nations spent much time or treasure trying to leverage for great advantage. A legion of wizards who could transform into bears simply did not compare to a company of elementalists, or kinetecists, or traversers.

"The issue is..." Imogen looked around the entryway uncomfortably. There were certain topics which were Not Proper in Zaichaer; while she'd enjoyed letting her hair down on the shores of Ecith, Kalzasi felt, well... more sober about some things. "Animals are almost invariably bad at carrying things. I'm getting tired of finding myself naked in the middle of towns."

[Avamande]

Avamande pursed their lips together at the question, snapping their notebook shut as they think over the question. This was a very sensible concern, and they were somewhat surprised that it had never come up before. While most practitioners of animus ended up using the rune for moving about unseen and unmentioned, the black cat was a staple for good reason after all, surely some of them had found transforming back without any of their apparel or accoutrements to be quite inconvenient.

"Ale'Ephirum provides for all difficulties," they replied, the stock phrase having a particular tone of menace about it considering the true meaning of the workshop's name. "Several solutions spring to mind. Do let me know if none are appropriate for your particular situation, it would not do to make you accept a half solution." They said this very gravely, as if their honor was at stake. Certainly, Lyra's esteem for them was.

"The simplest approach would be to utilize Masquerade to craft you the illusion of clothing, or Mesmer to make all who looked upon you not notice your state of undress. However, these suffer the rather obvious drawback of leaving you unclothed in truth, regardless of perception." There was a philosophical argument to be made that truth was perception, but that would be a rather stupid one to make considered anyone with Semblance would be able to tell the difference. "On the other side of the spectrum, you could have your clothes Runeforged to transform into a more convenient shape to be transported while in animal form, but such would be terribly expensive and would be best performed at the Skyforge."

They then considered their own Runes, how they might attempt to solve the problem solely by their innate arcane might instead of any artifice. "Kinetics could be used to have the clothing fly to you at your command, such would look somewhat ridiculous, but would work. I suppose Summoning could accomplish much the same," they said, adding the last statement as a moment of insight hit them. "Finally, Traversion does permit one to open a pocket of Slipspace in which persons and objects may be stored, but this is an ability known only to the masters of the art. However... A simplification of Junction may be achievable. It would require a great deal of experimentation to perfect. Conceptually, very similar to a Featherlight Bag, simply smaller."

[Imogen]

Now this was service- no dinging the shop bell for minutes or pestering a bored clerk until they finally, begrudgingly, agreed to consider your needs. Not a single human walking in and pushing in front of you to usurp the shop-owner's time because they had rights and you had none. Just an elf of indiscernibly aquiline aspect rattling off potential solutions to the problem of your clothes not being magic. Now to play the most comfortable role of all; the customer who got to listen to every proposed solution and reject them.

The first was easy. "My magics destroy illusions in close proximity. I'd be naked again every time I drew my sword." It was a strange admission to make, but she supposed that, like a doctor or lawyer, lying to your magic consultant would only end in a worse position.

The second wasn't much harder. "Definitely can't afford runeforging."

Runeforges were rare among the hoi pelloi of Zaichaer, but she'd been in one or two of the shops which would do cheap work on the side for enough money to shut a dozen men up. While this "Skyforge" might be a bit better than those cutthroat prices, Imogen understood the process enough to know that the materials alone were liable to crush her bank.

"The clothes flying around is impractical for longer travels, or, uh, aquatic ventures. I warrant you that it would be pretty amusing."

With Avamande's last suggestion, however, Imogen's grin faded. For the first time in many a day, she looked genuinely introspective. "A... miniature junction? That's interesting. But it takes several experienced witches working in concert to open a junction and keep it open for any real length of time. Is it really possible to make a... pocket junction?"

[Avamande]

The sound of a pen scratching against paper was the only response Avamande gave to most of Imogen's statements, the Hytori marking off each of their original suggestions in turn. News that she lacked enough funds for Runeforging drew considerably more writing, the mage marking a note to try and find a more delicate way as to inquire about budgets in the future. Underwater excursions were also something that they hadn't considered, much to their chagrin, and even more writing followed. Perhaps not every client would require something so exotic, but this was Ale'Ephirum.

"As I stated earlier, Featherlight Bags are constructed using a similar technique. I would simply have suggested that you purchase one in ordinary circumstances, but your particular requirements make that... unwise. Especially for, as you mentioned, any aquatic ventures. You both require less space than the bag generates, and a smaller form factor for the object itself. In addition, you seem to have a somewhat martial character. A tear in a Featherlight will disrupt the enchantment, scattering your clothes to the ground. I would suggest an amulet or similar, attuned to draw aether from your own person. A steady supply should be enough to maintain a small Slipspace pocket, but it would be quite small, with a greater expenditure opening it when required."

Avamande continued writing as they spoke, but they switched their pen and inkwell for the far more expensive Spellwright's Ink. It was the shop's supply, and they probably should have been more frugal with it, but Imogen had inspired them and they wasted little time. A rough glyph was hastily inscribed upon the page, the mage muttering under their breath as they willed a fraction of their power into the drawings to bring them to life. It was more of a proof of concept than anything they would dare sell, and their own mastery of Traversion was required to stabilize the embryonic pocket.

When they were done however, a blank void hung in the air above Avamande's notebook, empty and pristine. "Would this suffice?"

[Imogen]

"Oh wow- it's nothing!"

Imogen scrutinized the tiny pocket of void, trying to force her eyes to glance past the optical illusion which rendered it flat from every side. It didn't work, of course; the illusion was the closest mortal senses could come to making sense of such an exotic non-object. There was simply no empirical sensibility to be wrung from it by the unaided eye.

She knew that, sort of. Not in a formal, academic sense, but she'd run with the Railrunners for three years and seen plenty of slipspace portals from every side. "Interesting. If the requirement to maintain the bubble in slipspace is that minor, couldn't it be anchored with dragonshards? That would make sure that the contents aren't immediately lost if the amulet is removed. But how would someone without the Rune of Traversion open it?"

Although Scrivening was a practice among the covens nearly as common as alchemy, Imogen had never really bothered with it. She understood the basics, of course; a witch spent a dozen hours painstakingly cutting squiggles into something like a staff or a wand and then, if they did it perfectly, it could produce a magical effect at the cost of the user's own aether. The minor covens, especially, prized Scrivened staves, as a single powerful witch could gift a half-dozen apprentices with the ability to do something valuable, but in Imogen's experience such items were short-lived, burnt through in a single emergency.

She turned her head, squinting at the portal again, as though hoping the new perspective would make it easier to comprehend.

(It might have seemed as though Imogen would poke the little display pocket, but she did not. She was impulsive, true, but she wasn't particularly interested in having a digit severed and lost for all time because of some scrivener's error.)

"Ugh. If Carina were here, I'd ask her how they stabilized the permanent junctions at the Market."

It was probably something inapplicable, like ley energies or pillars made of petrified Traversers, neither of which were going to be available for making a pocket space, but it was nice to know all the options before undertaking a task.

[Avamande]

The phrase 'it's nothing' would in most circumstances be considered a very dire insult, especially when a shopkeeper was exhibiting a ware to a potential customer. In this case however Avamande - well they didn't exactly beam with pride but they were certainly filled with a certain sense of satisfaction at the fact that yes, it was nothing, thank you very much. A perfect division of nothingness in the midst of something, an ephemeral area of is carved out of is not, was not easy to create and it was good to have it appreciated for what it was. It was nothing, and a very impressive nothing at that.

Avamande's preening aside, the customer did have further points to make, and they turned their focus solely upon Imogen. "I suppose a dragonshard could be integrated into the casing, yes, but it would best be designed as an emergency measure. Drawing the aether preferentially from your body is far more stable, not to mention cheaper. A trivial addition to the glyph in any event, I can arrange for that easily enough," they replied with a nod, already sketching out the requisite modifications. "As far as opening it, you would need a supply of scrolls - but those could be placed within the amulet itself for safekeeping and ease of transport. Of course, you would need to then return here for additional scrolls."

Subscription based services were the bane of many a wallet, but made perfect economic sense from the perspective of suppliers. Why sell someone one thing when you could sell them the same thing, but smaller, forever? Unfortunately for the long term profits of Ale'Ephirum, Imogen had already intimated that she was quite poor, and furthermore Avamande was not a particularly avaricious individual, possessing little understanding or care for proto-capitalist economic models that dictated they should attempt to extract as much wealth as possible from every customer to maximize profit margins, as shown by their very matter of fact reply. "Or you could be initiated into Traversion."

Imogen's mention of the Market drew no recognition whatsoever from Avamande, the Kalzasern mage having never felt the need to consort with or learn about the Zaichaeri witches. They did, however, understand the basics of permanent portal networks. "While I cannot help you with the 'Market', Kalzasi maintains a portal network of its own. Presumably the precepts are identical."

[Imogen]

"Mmm!" Imogen replied brightly to Avamande's analysis.

She was in no place to opine on the use of Traversion between the two cultures, but her occasional experiences with Circle Mages seeking things from the Market had been... underwhelming. She reminded herself affirmatively that she had no basis to cast aspersions on the magic traditions of Kalzasi. A few robed idiots and a couple of days watching unimpressive displays of Reaving on the training grounds a year prior were just a few points of comparison among a vast set.

The concept of the physical anchor, however, still discomfited her. An amulet was relatively easy for a variety of forms to transport, and would be a major improvement over the status quo, but it was also going to interfere with the use of Animus for stealth, and even a little weight was enough to cripple a bird. But even the dragonshard concept wasn't going to be enough to fix that; after all, adding a rock to an amulet didn't make it any lighter. Aerolyth aside.

At Avamande's final suggestion, however, Imogen's ears perked up (literally so- they wiggled a bit). That was a solution which appealed to her, since she had fully intended to force Carina into finally teaching her that damn Rune the next time they met, anyway. She didn't expect it would be terribly useful for a while. But then again, she hadn't expected Animus to be useful for a while, and that magic had proven incredibly intuitive. Maybe Reaving was simply the most complex and difficult magic of all, and she'd never realized how easy other witches had it!

"Ah! Well, that's easy enough. I was planning to acquire that Cardinal Rune regardless. For the, um, god-killing spell." Wow, that sounded pretty stupid, she should probably come up with a different name for it! "Well, not actual god-killing, of course. Stable elemental transposition at scale, what have you, style of thing."

"Stable elemental transposition at scale" was an accurate description of the concept she'd been working on since her encounter in the depths of the Ecithian wilds, but it wasn't catchy at all. She was simply going to have to sit down one of these days and come up with a good name for the damn spell.

[Avamande]

"The 'god-killing spell'?" Avamande repeated back at her, nodding slowly as she clarified that she did not wish to kill a literal deity with whatever magic she was intending to create. "Transposition of a suitably lethal element, at a suitably vast scale, so as to slay a being that a layman may erroneously refer to as godlike?" they asked, attempting to clarify her goals. Ale'Ephirum was a venerable establishment, and prided itself on giving aid to paying customers no matter what their problem was. There was in fact a rather sizable section in the employee handbook on how to handle one who sought to slay an actual god, and its subsections were broad enough to cover situations such as these.

"In order to process your request, there are several questions I am required to ask. Does the entity you wish to slay fall under the category of Dragon God or Goddess, Mistlord, Draegir, Moritasi, Gritaeri, Ara, Kahl, Vrahzot'th, wyrm of any age, or is bound by any type of reciprocal contract with any of the aforesaid beings? Presuming the answer is no, we do offer a free consultation service." If the answer was yes, then the option of a paid consultation was available, which rapidly increased in price depending upon the exact type of divinity.

"Please note that a consultation from Ale'Ephirum does not imply any promise of aid, and that any information you share with Ale'Ephirum or any of its sanctioned agents is not necessarily held confidential from the sight of the gods." Unless appropriate precautions were taken, which were expensive to the point that Avamande doubted that Imogen could afford them and it felt somewhat cruel to even ask.

All of this talk of consultations with Imogen began to jog a memory however, one that they had shrugged off as a rather silly dream. Then again, considering what else had come and seen them in the flesh from that dream, perhaps they should have taken it more seriously. "Wait. I've seen you before. You had a business card."