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The Rift: I
Posted: Mon Jan 13, 2020 3:10 pm
by Taelian
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.
Re: The Rift: I
Posted: Mon Jan 13, 2020 3:36 pm
by Taelian
He appeared to land on the floor of a water-battered cliffside, covered in algae and slick moisture that seemed practically embedded into the stone. He rose, peeling his elbows and knees back and then upward to rise, only to see that there was nothing around him. There was... a lighthouse, he noticed, far away and dilapidated at best; currently assailed by the tide just as the stone had been, as if the land were being reclaimed by the sea.
And suddenly came an overwhelming weight. He felt he was being encumbered by a boulder upon his back, dragging him back to the floor. The blaring of an otherworldly cry sung through the vision surrounding him, though in his amnesiac state he had begun to mistake the vision for reality. He was filled with fear; terror, utterly, in every imaginable way. Taelian's heart began to beat at a rapid pace, and he noticed himself hyperventilating. But he barely felt like himself, or like anyone -- just a panicking, confused thing. As if he had been born into the world only to frantically fear its ongoings before passing on.
His vision changed again. He was now on the edge of a blizzard-battered hill, his back lain into the thick snow that nearly buried him within it. Even as a Sigilic Pyromancer, he felt the sensation of cold, despite whatever illusory thing this was. The winds were extremely intense -- they were vicious and rapid, he could hear them whistling constantly and to a deafening degree. He felt himself go frigid, as if he would freeze if he remained. He decided to try and rise onto his feet, and slowly he crawled down from the edge of the hill, only to frequently be pushed back onto his rear from the sheer power of the wind.
"Wh-wh-wh--"
He tried to speak; to ask himself what was occurring. But he was too cold, and every aspect of him too besieged by the wintry cold, that he could not speak. He was powerless. Taelian tried to forge a Sigilic Flame to safeguard him from the blizzard's effects, but he could not appear to do so. Even that one instinctual remnant of his understanding had somehow been stripped away.
He was taken to another place. A wetland marsh, surrounded by black bile and the rot of perpetually dying trees. Evidence of sears and burns upon the land that were left from a catastrophe long ago, even though in many ways it appeared almost recent. This -- it reminded him of a place; just that, a vague conception of something he knew. Perhaps... home. Amidst the somewhat primitive stupor gripping his mind, that was all he could really understand. That this place was, at one time, where he belonged. Even though it appeared barren and covered in filth.
He screamed. Taelian's mind was suddenly returned to the first space; the room he sat within, with the woman's fingers so close to his skin. He suddenly appeared somewhere else, and dropped from a higher elevation, his body landing hard against the floor. There was a wound in his side; it felt as if the edge of a blade had suddenly zipped through him, at an incomprehensible speed. It was deep, but there were no arterial or internal cuts, only the gash of torn skin and flesh.
Taelian's eyes began to well with tears. He was lost, confused, uncertain. His face was lifted so that his stare would meet Eloise's worried gaze, but from her he only held a sense of vague familiarity. The Siltori was scared. And quickly after, he was extricated from the floor and brought by both the tan-skinned woman and a near slate grey Elf to a bed, where he was lain and left to his solitude. He began to hear fervent discussion emerging from the other room, once the two left.
He was so... disoriented. Nothing seemed right. This place felt as real to him as the filth-mired, scarred wetland, the blizzard, the mossy stone upon the frigid ocean's edge. But he was not transitioning between spaces anymore. And at least, he was safe.
Re: The Rift: I
Posted: Mon Jan 13, 2020 3:48 pm
by Taelian
"Taelian," she whispered. The long-haired woman had come back to him, leaning into the bed, with her clasped hands keeping one of his own in their firm yet humane grip. He still failed to understand who she was and why she was here, but -- she seemed nice enough. His eyes began to narrow, and then close as he attempted to relax. Looking at his environment brought him stress; he wished to minimize that stress. He could still hear her, anyway.
"You won't understand what I am telling you right now, but over the next few days your mind will recover. This -- at least some of it -- is common for initiates in the art. Amnesia, poor understanding of the environment, even more rarely the sort of... transitioning you just performed. You are certain to be confused, I know; but worry not. This is not the end. I will become more familiar to you, as will Lethiril again, and whoever else may be important to you. Nothing is forgotten; only withheld. Do you understand me, little flame?"
His eyes opened some, and then slightly more. He thought of the most familiar visage to him, testing his memory, seeing what he could recall. It was... a robust and soldier-like man, his back draped with black wings. He had a smile upon his lips, always a warm expression. If there was one person beyond the blur of faces that appeared from thin air to meet him that he might have recognized, it was that man. "Riven," he softly whispered, nodding. It was likely the Bond that allowed his memory to transcend this moment of confusion. "Is he nearby? I want to see him. I miss him. It's been nearly a fortnight since we've spent considerable time with one another. That hurts me, to be honest..."
Eloise flashed a smile, if only for a moment, before rising from her seat. "You will see him soon. First, you must understand where you are, and you must remember everything else. Then, after I teach you how to be reserved in your Transposition so that you do not endanger yourself, we will allow you to return to see that man. Do you understand, Taelian?"
"Yes," he said back. "Yes, I get it. Thank you, miss."
She flashed him a final and equally brief smile, and endeavored towards the door, before shutting it behind her and leaving Taelian to his rest.
Re: The Rift: I
Posted: Sun Jan 26, 2020 9:59 am
by Paragon
Taelian
XP: 5/5
Magic? Yes. May be used in full for Transposition due to initiation.
Transposition: The Rune of Transposition
Transposition: The Initiation
Transposition: Threshold Sickness
Transposition: 'Portal Magic'
Transposition: Initiation Drawbacks
Survival: Rapidly adjusting to new climates
Comments: Teleportation! Now Taelian can truly go anywhere. I think I recognized the places he transitioned to. Some of them at least.