Legend of Ransera

Posted: **Tue Dec 24, 2019 7:41 pm**

29th of Frost, Year 119

It began with a nightmare.

Riven. His golden locks, his stunningly handsome complexion. To Taelian, he was a dream come alive; everything he could have only imagined prior to meeting him. He had changed his view of humanity, for Taelian viewed him as one of them, as much the oppressor as he was a gallant and loving man. What Lethiril said, before, would have been taken with eagerly receptive ears by the young and ideological Elf... but now it wasn't so clear. The nightmare, he supposed, was a convergence of his old reality with his new one, and then again with the reality presented by Lethiril. The former and latter did not wholly conflict, but with the world introduced to him now... he wasn't so sure.

Could he love Riven, and yet hate his kind? Hate those of a similar complexion to him; those whose faces bore similar shapes, those whose ears extended to the same simple, curled length?

He realized the nightmare wasn't just about that. Since he had been initiated... he began to experience something akin to an affliction. Not an illness of the physical body, but a drowsed awakening that bore on his mind like a migraine. He felt more receptive to things he did not used to see. He saw lights pass along in the corners of his vision that would have never been there, and he felt a strange connection to the shadow from behind the watery veil. He thought of her... almost beckoning stare, extended from golden eyes, the one color from within the matte black.

It was Veravend. But could it have been a memory of her? A feeling imbued by her power which still flowed throughout their world? He did not understand how the 'Patrons' worked. Or Summoning in general. Lethiril had told him that he needed to rest; that his threshold sickness, which had mostly faded by now, would impede his ability to think rationally and adequately understand his answers. That his progression into the art would come only once he awoke, unmolested by the ardors of the day.

But the night had been an ardor as well. At least, the first half; the moon was still out and the sun still beyond the horizon. It was likely two hours past midnight.

Lethiril wasn't asleep. He was reading, with a candle lit, directly across the hall; Taelian could see him through his open door.

"Leth," he called him. The Elf had risen from the bed, wearing a pair of flexible linen briefs and a white cloth undershirt. He stepped forward, almost limping, towards the other man's door. The Dratori-Orkhan turned his gaze to eye him, before setting aside his book and making his way towards his old friend. Taelian was still undergoing the drawbacks of his initiation, and needed help that the mixed-blood was happy to give. Lethiril was just glad that he was alive.

Posted: **Tue Dec 24, 2019 8:01 pm**

"Leth..." he began, parting his lips as he formed his thoughts. The two men were seated across from one another, back upon the sofas downstairs that wrapped around the hearth. Strangely, Taelian still felt cold, despite the warmth of his Beacon that made him nearly impervious to such feelings. It had to be a magical sensation, he thought. The initiation had strange consequences that would surely last longer than a nap. Perhaps for days more.

"Veravend -- is she my Patron? How can she be a Patron if she's dead? I don't... get it." His eyes were still upon the surface of the table, a dark vainwood material that drew the eyes of any spectator towards them. It was a nostalgic sight; he wondered, laughably, if the table could sing as the trees did. Though such cheery musings were secondary to his worries.

"She's not dead," he responded. "At least, I don't think she is. The Elven Gods -- they rallied against her. That's what the Dratori of Antiris told me. She was pushed back, but they did not manage to kill her. She was... extricated, or so Summoners think, by something far greater before she passed. I have heard other Summoners say that something is Thultu. That she... conspired with him to become a God, and though he failed to grant her wish, she absconded with him all the same." Or so some scholars believed, he should have added. Like with all mysteries surrounding their past, it was impossible to know.

"Besides," Lethiril continued, "...death doesn't remove a Patron's hold over their Archetypes. It's strange, and I don't wholly understand it myself, but the essence that made them a Patron is separate from their essence that gives them life. They intertwine, of course, but they are somewhat differentiated. Veratelle is still the Patron of a powerful archetypal family, the Tar'haen, and many of her Summoners still claim to feel her. It's not easy to explain. You need to be shown."

"Shown?" The Ebon Knight inquired.

"Yes," Lethiril responded, narrowing his gaze. "My primary Archetypes are known as Mirdun. They are beasts of mold, with a repugnant stench. To call upon them, I use the Ritual of Binding. I want you to reach out into the Mists, where Veravend presumably resides, and call upon one of her Archetypes with a Ritual of your own. You should feel a plethora of entities roaming within your purview, waiting to be communed with, and her overlooking gaze behind them all. The moment you've seen as other Vesj'vakar Summoners have seen, you will know your truth."

Binding. But how did he...

"How do I do it?" he asked. With the Beacon, and the Black Sigil, it was often a feeling that welled up at an almost integral level. Learning any particular ability was a matter of reaching back into his own soul for facets instilled within the magic. Things inherent. He did not feel any such urge with this new Rune, though he acknowledged he was new to carrying it.

"Close your eyes," Lethiril instructed. "For new Summoners, it often takes closing one's eyes to see the... second world, I guess, beyond this one. It's like an overlay to me now, but before it used to require actively throwing my mind into a proverbial wilderness, and imagining what might have been there. I would see... images," he said.

Taelian could begin to see them too. Shadows squirming within a cave.

"Hold up your hands," Lethiril added. Taelian followed his words. "Channel ether into them. You are pulling the Archetype from beyond with your hands, as if physically grasping them. Focus."

Posted: **Tue Dec 24, 2019 8:27 pm**

"Offer ether to the Mists," Lethiril advised. "Not much. A small amount. You are offering this ether to whichever Archetype comes to serve you -- be careful and judicious with how much, and attempt to feel the entity that greets you," he said.

"I haven't even gotten that far," Taelian admitted, frowning. "I can't seem to pull my mind into this realm. I don't get--"

"You haven't mastered the ritual," Lethiril explained. Taelian's eyes began to twitch partway open as he attempted to reconnect briefly with the flickering, dim lights of the real world around him. He began to hear voices crowding him, chattering in a language he could not recognize.

Dsh'vjs'volkhoz'vorshtahd. Vshor'tahn'alglot. It was incredibly alien. Terrifying. The voices were low and not far from what one would describe as demonic. They appeared to draw closer to him the longer he maintained the stance, his hands held up with his fingers extended, ether visibly channeling from his fingers and palms as a storm of dark-colored, black-indigo dull light. "Lethiril..." Taelian whispered, hesitantly. "I'm not one for squeamishness. But this is unsettling. Do you hear these voices? They're so loud. Conniving."

"I do hear them," he affirmed. "They sound much different than the Mirdun. A lot more like Aldir Archetypes, from deep in the Mists. The Ebony Nightmare. But... this is different. Vesj'vakar are rare, my exposure to them is limited. I'm with you, though, Taelian. Just tell me when you manage to connect with one. Describe them to me. I'll give you counsel on whether or not you should let them in."

Let them in? he asked himself. Should?

That was the important word.

He could accept ones that should not be accepted. It was the implication. And it was terrifying.

Taelian felt the ether channeled within his hands clutching the exterior of his skin. It began to hurt, digging into him weakly at first, but then with a greater and more compelling sting. He yelled out in pain and released the ether, letting the ritual subside. He had failed to complete it.

The voices simmered, lower, as if beginning to grow distance from him. They continued for a short while, then they paused yet with the ambience of their realm still flowing into the room. Then, all went silent. His fingers appeared as if they had been nearly frayed. It hurt.

"It's alright, Taelian," Lethiril said. He stood from his own seat and sat beside his old friend, comforting him with an arm over his shoulder. "Most don't even succeed on the fifth attempt. You did well for your first try. The fact that we heard the voices means you correctly followed your connection to Veravend to its source. Now it's only a matter of proper ether control, which you will learn with this Rune. It takes time," he explained.

Taelian frowned. "I don't know if I want this," he whispered, fear wracking his voice. "I don't think I need this. It was a worthy attempt, but I've been connected to a... a darkly thing. The voices felt so grim, so hateful. I don't know what they want, but it's nothing good. I don't want to serve that..."

"She is nothing, Taelian," Lethiril whispered, running his fingers through the Siltori's hair. "She is merely the font from which they draw. Patrons cannot truly control what is done with their power. As she uses it to her own ends, you may use it to yours, even though those things may not intersect. Don't focus on her. She's a still-life of the past. Focus on--"

"I thought the purpose of this was to draw closer to the Patrons?" Taelian asked, frowning. Lethiril seemed caught off-guard, and frowned.

"You're right. I did say that."
"Then--"
"I'm sorry, Taelian. I forgot myself. I've never encountered a Vesj'vakar Summoner directly, and I think I allowed my intrigue to leak into my actions. Let's... take a break for now, alright? We can talk, instead. Catch up. I know I've been awfully wrong, and I'm sorry about that. If you want to proceed with this at all, we'll wait for you to feel more comfortable. Alright?"
"Okay," Taelian replied. He was glad. Lethiril had been worryingly fixated on Summoning, to the point where it had managed to hijack their entire reunion.

But he still felt his kinship with the other man. He knew that it was mutual, and he imagined the reason for Lethiril's obsession was more drawn from his ideological intensity than anything else. A lot of Ebon Knights were like that, too. He was used to it.

Smiling, Lethiril nodded and started to speak about his time in Alfsos. He was a citizen of Atinaw, first and foremost, and...

Posted: **Sun Jan 05, 2020 5:31 pm**

Taelian

XP: 5/5
Magic? Yes, for Summoning.

Summoning: Rituals
Summoning: Ritual of Binding
Summoning: Communing With Archetypes
Summoning: The Ebony Nightmare
Summoning: Ether is offered for a contract
Summoning: Be careful of who courts your offer

Religion: Veravend: Alive
Religion: Veravend: Extricated to the Mists

Comments: Please reach out to me if you have questions or concerns.

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