Legend of Ransera

Once upon a time a hiding hole meant security and a place to watch all dangers pass by, more time to spot a new mark and plot. Now it just meant boredom. Other hole-in-the-walls would offer a scene. A back alley, a run down town square, some shanty houses, or maybe a bum fight or two. Everyday spent in this one was just a box to shut the world away for just enough time to sleep and prepare for another day on the town. It was incredibly boring.

Lady Petra had been gracious enough to clear out a cupboard and a small mat for Yshvold to sleep in some nights unless there was business where he needed to be scarce as to not frighten or disturb her patrons during business meetings, or perhaps his constant tossing and kicking of the walls kept her awake some nights as he awoke from night terrors. Today was a day she welcomed him to stay for the night. There was no rhyme or reason to him but only the gratitude he felt to be in her presence for such a limited time.

Today however felt different. He had nothing to do, nowhere to go, nothing he wanted to watch in town anymore, and no friends to call upon. He only had this overencompassing boredom to stave off and he was failing.

Yshvold had no way of telling what Lady Petra was doing while he hid himself away but he had questions and sought her approval for something, anything, he could do for her and so he would seek her aid in one manner he thought she would find interesting.

His ability to siphon aether. Once he had done this in front of a group and barely escaped with his life, learning his lesson to train this ability unique to him in secret. Now he had no opportunity to grow stronger in his gifts without alerting some bystander to his presence and summoning the much stronger guards to kill him, or so he suspected. Lady Petra however might seem more approachable about this subject. He had to try.

"Lady Petra, are you busy?" Yshvold meekly asked as he cracked his cupboard door open to look into her room. With no mask or hood on the sudden light blinded his eyes and he squinted as he peered outside.

Having Yshvold in her apartment only makes Petra angry. He is a reminder of how little she can truly do for him. His presence in her cupboard is a reminder that she has not reached her full potential yet. Worse, it is a warning that her potential might be more meager than she would hope.

She should be able to feed him, clothe him, give him a bed, fund an education for him. It should be within her power. She is a woman who wants to change the world – the thought that now she is limited in her ability to change the life of even one young man is enough to make her seethe.

Yesod can feel Petra’s agita. He soaks it up like a sponge. He is a reflection of her ambition, and as her irritation colors her desire, so too is Yesod warped. He stands straight and stiff, hard as the metal that forms his unnatural body. He glows with quiet power, and this time lets the sun fall over his mistress’ countenance.

Yshvold’s voice snaps Petra up from the book that holds her interest. Her pen-hand, scratching over a palimpsest, stops in place. It pauses in the middle of a letter, letting her full attention flow like water from a breaking dam onto Yshvold.

Small, quiet, needy. Petra sees herself in the young man, of course she does. His hands are bloody from the same ascent she made. His scars run just as deep, even if they are in different places and won from different trials.

“Less than usual.” Cold, crisp, like the winter’s breeze cutting through the mountain ravines. It is a voice made to gust over sharp rocks and make the needles dance. She sets her pen down, the letter ‘e’ unfinished on her page. “How can I help you?”

She sees the light making him uncomfortable. She waves a hand, and Yesod’s planes of solidified force shimmer into reality, giving Yshvold the shade he needs for his eyes to adjust properly.

Such a small gesture. But, if it is all I can do, at least it’s being done.

The metal servant proves itself useful to its master again and again, this time for Yshvolds benefit. While the light has gone away his eyes remain narrowed on his competition for Miss Petra's praise. Powerful, useful, and tall, it is everything he is not at this moment but someday he'll show this demon who will be at her side longer.

Her acknowledgement of him gave him courage to venture forth from his safe space and stand tall before her. Dressed in a long brown tunic and ragged pants, considered sleepwear, and unbrushed white hair fell down past the dark horns, that sprouted from just past his hairline and grew backwards to crown his skull. This complimented by what one might hope was dirt on his cheek. No one would be surprised if she told anyone who saw him that he was a squatter, or he had crawled out from some gutter in the low city, or even if he was some sort of new demon summon to the more uneducated.

"Lady Petra, I have a concern. My studies on emotions and basic greetings is going well but I want to become more powerful." Yshvold brings a hand up and clenches it into a tight fist. Part of him felt hungry for aether to use it to practice his gifts and prove his usefulness. Another simply craved the attention only she could provide, acknowledgment for his diligence on bettering himself.

"I wish to grow stronger in my gift, but I do not wish for people to see me. Would you be able to help me study what I can do? I cannot steal aether like I used to before you found me, it is too dangerous. If someone saw me and traced me back to you, I do not wish to bring you trouble." Yshvold voices his concern in earnest. The usual cold gaze he would share with Lady Petra to show her his strength changed to one of quiet shame for his weakness, but he never looked away and kept his eyes locked onto hers.

Petra offers a small smile. He's come so far. The scared little boy with eyes like her brother's, he is no longer. Small but growing - soon enough he'll tower over her like everyone else.

"You don't need to call me that." It is the dozenth time she has corrected him, and she knows it will not change anything, yet again. The habits of a lifetime in the gutter take years to break. There is a knee-jerk fear of authority and a powerful understanding of the social order that burns itself onto the soul. Petra remembers it. Afraid to meet the eye. Always using honorifics. Never speaking loudly. Never wanting to be seen. Some of the habits still linger in her. She knows Yesod can smell them. He can see her soul, and he can see what is cut onto it. What does not belong.

"I'm always ready to help you. You've been working hard - I will be all the help I can be."

Petra pushes a book aside and turns in her chair, legs crossed before her. Across her small and colorful room, she regards her half-adopted child, her outside-kid. "Whether or not it causes trouble. Now - "

Petra sits up a bit straighter. She clears her throat. She has spent more than enough time as a lecturer - she has the knack for it now.

"Aether exists in all things. It is the beginning and the end. From Aetherium it floods down into the world, like a great river depositing itself in the sea. Magi are merely meanders in the river - slight curves to the flow. The river is always there. You are a bucket dipped in. You are a drop flowing upstream. At your zenith... I don't know what you could do. Wonders, no doubt. Anathema to the world. But for now, you should focus on easily-accessible Aether. Aether that is already highly concentrated." Petra searches for an analogy. "Think of yourself like a towel." A terrible analogy, but she goes with it. "It can only dry up what it is dryer than. You have a carrying capacity, and that capacity dictates what Aether can be taken."

Petra plucks a knife, and cuts a little slash on her finger. She swipes the finger down, and the blood mists into a little portal. A held-open tear in reality, leading, eventually, to hell.

"A mage working her magic is the best source of all. Drain me, if you'd like."

Lady Petra's Grace and benevolence shines brightly to him now, more than ever, as he watches her offer her own aether to him as a gift. To her she is merely opening a portal like she had so many times before, but he can see things differently. Angel hair threads of aether twist and flow from her fingers in a delicate dance from her fingertip as she cuts it and performs her spell. It weaves and intertwines as the portal is formed and borders the spell. Constantly moving and turning with a mind of its own, it fills Yshvolds heart with pride that his Lady can create such magnificent displays of power but also sorrow that he was to steal it away at this moment.

He had never allowed someone to observe him as he practiced his gift. It filled him with unease and caused him to hesitate at first but with Lady Petra's comforting words he found the courage to step forward and thrust his hands into the portal.

What was once beautiful threads now withered and receded as red and black energies escaped the portal and attached to the boys arms. The portal quivered and shrank slowly with the loss of aether as Yshvold slowly brought his hands back out grasping the source of the aether that allowed such a thing to exist. To Lady Petra it seemed as though he was ripping out some imaginary thing but she can clearly see her spell failing before it was allowed to fulfill its purpose, her power being stolen away by an unassuming young man in sleepwear. Then, with a crack, his hands are freed and the portal snaps shut as the aether melds into his hands.

Aether surged and then stabilized in his body as invisible power crackled at Yshvold's fingertips. At once grateful and guilty, Lady Petra had shown him something amazing but he had stolen it away.

"Thank you La- Miss Petra." Once again he almost made the mistake of calling her something she found displeasing. Breathing deeply as he lets his heart calm down and watches the crackling energy gave him some sort of ease of mind, feeling in control of himself and the situation.

"I know I can go without food, water, or sleep for a while with this but too long and I become sick. I also know I can use it harm others. There was a time I stole a spell from a mage that was traveling through my old home, he and his friends pursued me until I jumped into their group and exploded it out. I lost the power I took but I left them in pain and shock but there must be something else I can do with this stored power." His explanation of what he knew came out dry and longwinded. It felt awkward as though he told her that he had a dagger at her throat and could take her life whenever he pleased and there was nothing she could do to stop him, the idea forced him to bring his hands close to his chest to contain what he had away from her for her safety.

"And should I hold this for too long, I will also become sick but..." Something felt off, as though he was still hungry. "I do not feel full. Is this normal? Could I not use this to aid in your own spellcraft?"

Petra recoils slightly as her portal snaps shut. She winces with pain as the Aether is pulled from her, but it is not so bad. She has been through worse, far worse. She shakes her hand slightly, wrings it with her other, and glares at the spot of air where she had pulled the universes together, with something approaching scorn.

"Interesting. Very interesting."

She felt her own aether so clearly in that moment. She felt the energy of the universe inside of her, as she had never felt it before. Always it had been controlled, contained. It had wrestled with her, of course. It had struggled against her control. She had spent it willingly. But there is, evidently, a difference between trading it and having it stolen. Yshvold's theft leaves a void in her that slowly fills with her power once more. It feels... unnatural. Almost dead. It is numb to a sense for which she has no name, and she is not sure if she should give it one, or if she needs to return to her books.

"Aether is needed to maintain summons. It is the core power which maintains their paradox of existence in this world. Theoretically, if we could find the way, your theft of Aether could power a summons, but we would need to find a source besides myself, of course. Aether, like any energy, is never transmitted perfectly. There is always loss. You receive less than you take, and I suspect, for now, you store it inefficiently." Petra speculates, her mind running ahead of her proofs.

Data, data, data, I cannot make bricks without clay. Let hypotheses follow experiment, not the other way around.

Petra's blood is still running. She moves her hand again, and it simmers and vanishes into a puff of blue haze - one that transforms into a misshapen bird with four wings on one side and three on another, a bird made of polished brass and with eyes of fire.

It hoots in a language that man forgot. Its feathers change colors like heating metal, the patterns spreading over its body. It is heavy on the table, and its wings flap in a polyrhythm that almost hurts to try and follow. Frustrating, inhuman, and incorrect. It fits Petra like a glove.

"Endaemon. Bird of Ten Thousand Faces. A common familiar of mine. A minor demon." She scratches its neck like she might scratch a cat. Such mundanity.

"There is Aether in it, and there is Aether between us, as I subsist its existence. I wonder - what can you do here?"

This little thing is yet another servant of Lady Petra and just in that moment Yshvold can feel a sense of inferiority towards it. Her affection towards it gives him a moment to silently grimace.

"Very well." Yshvold whispers as he breathes deep and focuses his sight on the tiny demon. Its wings beating out of time and rythem, the many tones of color, and the patterns that emblazon its body are all details that do not escape his notice but the more important part being the aether around it.

With the portal the aether simply wove around and maintained its presence, as though it wished to transfer to something that would come out. The magical dance around the border looked to be a collar ready to leash whatever abomination that would crawl forth but now the collar was set. Her power enslaved this small beast to her will as the fine hairs of aether leaked out of some invisible cracks in its being, the tiny threads combining together to create plumes and feathers outside of its physical being. They frayed at the ends save for one that attached itself to the hand that brought life to the Endaemon. This gave Yshvold an idea.

He cannot summon such things, nor cast great spells of destruction that he has seen before, but these frayed ends might be connected too if given aether in return.

Once more he takes in another deep breathe and his gaze grows cold. Yshvolds hand extends and the power he took lunges out past his reach to connect with the little bird perched on Lady Petra's table. Whatever words it might have said before screeched out for just a moment before falling silent, its body twitching and bulging as his own reserve of aether transfers over and soon it falls over as it writhes in pain.

What was once three wings became four, tiny talons grew and became sharp, and its size began to grow as the last drops of aether began to run dry and some other power flowed out of Yshvold. He felt weak as his knees shake and his other hand reflexively came up to support the other in this transference but it became too much and he fell to his knees.

The Endaemon twitched with its evolution cut short with talons much larger than appropriate for its body and the side that had once only had four wings grew larger than the other side that had sprouted its fourth. The blazing eyes glowed with blue fire as it awoken but couldn't maintain its balance as it tried to steady itself upright again.

Yshvold did this, he saw another amazing thing his Lady created and bastardized it. He looked upon his work and felt as though he was looking into a mirror as this misshapen demon struggled to find its footing.

"I-I am sorry, I didn't mean to..." Yshvold quietly says as he looks at his hands that no longer sparked with her blessing. The power he stole is now gone and his sense of control with it. Suddenly he thought of the feelings he had towards the bird sending a guilty shiver though his soul and wondered if those thoughts are what did this.

Petra marvels.

To be able to touch something I can only barely possess. To see it so clearly, with eyes unclouded. What a wonder he is! What a gift he has!

Jealousy burns in her. It is a great bonfire, but it is a meager spark compared to the blaze of pride she has in her ward. The smile on her face is as rare as the noonday stars, and just as beautiful. Wide, and warm, and overjoyed. Girlish, in its own way, with that flash of excitement that shows her age. She looks beyond pleased, beyond fascinated. She is enraptured.

She holds out a hand, and Endaemon tries to perch on it. The bird overshoots, and hits the ceiling. Not used to its own strength. There are a few more flaps, and it takes a circuitous route around the room before hitting Petra's arm with a definite impact. She bears it, as talons sink into her robed elbow, and she reaches out another hand to examine her familiar.

She pulls at the new wing, feels the others. She 'oohs' and 'ahs' to herself, and coos with delight as the proud and willful Endaemon lets her examine.

"Yshvold..."

Petra looks at him straight on, her chartreuse eyes wide and shining.

"This is incredible. What a GIFT you have! What a marvel. I had no idea you could transfer the energy back! And against the natural flow of Aether as well. We need to know more. We have so many tests to run!"

Petra snaps her fingers and Endaemon hoots one last time. Then the hole opens in space, and an unseen power drags it to hell. Right where it belongs.

"Thank you Yshvold." Petra leans down, leans forward, and pulls the boy into a hug. She has only given him a few.

And now I only reward him for his power. What a terrible guardian I am. What would father say?

Then she remembers her childhood. Perhaps she is not so bad, after all. She squeezes him tight, and strokes his hair, and then bounces out of her chair.

There is work to do!

It was unexpected. Her words were gargled in Yshvold's ears, with a lump forming in his throat to stop any words from forming, and he missed much of her praise as he sulked in pity over his actions but the hug snapped him out. Suddenly it all came flooding in and overloaded his senses in joy, and pleasure, and so many other things he cannot comprehend at the moment. All of these feelings were good, they had to be, for they were the cause of her praise.

Yshvold's hands shook as he raised them to embrace Lady Petra as she stroked his hair, sending a sensation he had no word for down his back, but before he could return the gesture she had released him and her eyes lit up with a fire he had seen before when she found something of worth. Dumbstruck and speechless with what was happening, he could only stare as the cold grey of his eyes turned into a beautiful shade of sapphire that glittered with the light.

Whatever he had done, this new power he had discovered, he needed to make it stronger so she can praise him more. There needed to be newer discoveries involving him, more powers to be unleashed, greater secrets of his gifts to pass on to her, he needed to do more for this moment to go on.

Then as he watched her go to work on what she just learnt he looked back down to his powerless hands. These hands that stole from her, burden her with a responsibility that she never asked for, killed for survival, and stole for no one but himself brought her such joy. He had brought her joy and it was the only thing he could have asked for in his life.

The lump in his throat disappeared and he looked up to her with tears and a warm smile.

"Thank you."

Yshvold

Lores: (8 Eligible, 6 Requested)
Aether Siphon: Catalyst
Aether Siphon: Summoning Siphoning
Aether Siphon: Aether Sense: Recognizing Summoning
Aether Siphon: Catalyst: Basic Summoning
Aether Siphon: Aether Sense: Recognizing Petra's Aether
Aether Siphon: Better Aether Storing

Loot: N/A
Injuries: N/A

Points: 8, 8 Points may be used for Aether Siphon (Aether Siphon [Journeyman])

Comments: How bold of Yshvold to reach out for help and begin working his inherent power. I look forward to seeing more of his growth and more of the dynamic with Petra.

---

Petra

Lores: (8 Eligible, 2 Requested)

Summoning: Controlling transformed summons
Resistance: Enduring Siphoning

Arcana: Insight into Aether Siphoning
Arcana: Insight into Catalyst

Loot: N/A
Injuries: N/A

Points: 8, 1 point may be used for Summoning (Summoning [Expert])

Comments:
What a helpful master and friend to Yshvold, and an avid researcher. The excitement and glee at the discovery of Catalyze was palpable and well shared.

I adjusted your Endurance lore to Resistance to be in line with the Skill Guide. Additionally, I would like it to be clear that the 2 Arcana Lores are not Skill Lores and cannot be used to increase a skill. 1 point was granted for Summoning as it had a very small use and presence in thread.