Legend of Ransera

Posted: **Sat Jun 20, 2020 7:21 pm**

Searing 40th, 120th Age of Steel

It became a day filled with disquiet and uncertainty to be sure, as the word quickly spread throughout the city like wildfire. The prisoners still detained from the Frost season faced incredible charges, after what took place in the neighboring territory of Hopsfel to say the least. Yet while justice was demanded of the ones believed to be responsible, action had to be taken swiftly to preserve the frailty of peace that still lingered. Glade had been such a quiet season to be sure, and yet now the machinations that stirred during the Frost... lingered once more.

The sun's angle was positioned somewhere relatively high above the western horizon, glaring down on the city of Alfsos as the hottest part of the day finally receded. While much of Alfsos resumed its daily rituals however, the very courtyards of the castle were abuzz with something entirely different. It was here that one such individual awaited, atop of one of the ramparts within the castle walls, as she stared down to watch the scene unfold before her. There was no doubt in her mind that everything about this seemed too... frantic at its very nature.

Down below she had a delicate view of what took place, as the nine agents of the alleged 'stealth force' were all lined up; waiting to join the first at the headsman's chopping block. Not much long after the axe lopped another's head off, she remained eloquently poised with her fingers twiddled almost uneasily. The fools. Had they really no other course of option? Was Atinaw so hard headed as to perceptively fail in discerning the enemy here? The sense of unease became apparent in just watching, but one thing remained clear to her as a result; these men were not of Daravin origin.

"Right on time Taelian." Eloise stated without even the need to look past her shoulder, for she had been expecting him to meet with her at this exact location. "Right about now you will see, first hand, what happens when one assumes a decision is best 'for the many' as they say." She tactfully stated as another prisoner was made to bend the knee, with another obnoxiously loud "chop" heard even from this distance. Still Eloise never once looked away, her gaze ever so fixated on the lot down below.

"These men are all being 'executed' for a crime they never committed." She added before finally turning to her pupil. "Everyone in the capital has been on about it! Evidently they're the ones behind the explosion near Hopsfel, a precarious situation from what I've been told." She noted to him before slightly leaning against the rampart, still with the dignified grace she always maintained. "it's clear what must be done," she began once more, "the prisoners may hold answers that we're missing. See if you can discern anything from what they possessed, and perhaps succeed where our neighbors have failed in perceiving the real threat."

!	Message from: Chronicle
	Okay, so I'm leaving the prompt open from here to give you more wiggle room. Feel free to take control of plot's direction from here, and if you have any questions that need to be answered IRP then flag me down! I'll be sitting back to watch how things unfold from here, and give you any necessary 'nudges' if there's anything important to add.

Posted: **Sat Jun 20, 2020 8:29 pm**

The sun had risen some time ago. For the last few hours, Taelian could vividly recall his laughter and jubilation, spending those long moments at home - with Riven - in his cabin to the city's south. But Taelian had known of this day's arrival since its announcing, and as the sun met its zenith he set out towards the capital to meet with members of the Covenant high upon the parapets. First among them was Eloise, his mentor. The one who had truly made him a mage. It was she that was most drawn to Atinorin politics, and so when events that altered the Kingdom's course were set in motion, she often played her hand in shifting the result. The woman -- proud like she was -- believed she could change history as she accompanied it, side-by-side. And in this matter especially, her interest was piqued.

Their star was no longer projecting its glare so fiercely. As he joined the woman on the parapets she had called him to, the Ebon Knight nodded slightly in recognition as she came into view. To that, Eloise responded much in turn, before speaking on the short-sighted nature of the Atinorin elite. Their mistakes; a failure to recognize the true nature of the assailants. Perhaps it was because she was Daravain herself, and originally a member of the Entente. Eloise's father had been a Montese -- she knew of how they worked. What they wanted. But Taelian had his doubts. And beyond that, he had reservations. With some small part of him, he did wish for Daravin to war with Atinaw. Because perhaps, in their mutual fall, the Elves could reclaim their home.

"Eloise," he started, though he immediately paused. Another thud was sounded; flesh rended. A head fell to the wooden floor of the platform. Taelian winced for a moment, though he quickly turned to the woman once more. "How are you certain that it was not Daravin? They're a violent nation. They've declared war on Radenor, Kaldria, Auris, Lorien, even Sil-Elaine. What makes Atinaw different?"

"Exactly that," she replied. "They have too many enemies. Most of them are hidden behind mountains, but... they act as an invincible coalition. Well, almost invincible. If Daravin unified and re-centralized, it could break through. But with Atinaw fortifying Kaldria, its main invasion point, that becomes an impossibility. It would be a foolish act; one that no Ententer would orchestrate. It would anger the Empire and destroy them in the Candor. I--"

Taelian hesitantly interjected. "Eloise, you come from a family renowned for its anti-jingoism. An aversion to war. Your perspective may have been tempered by that."

"It is not," said the Umpire. "I am well aware of the limitations of my worldview. But I am not constrained to my father's image of war; he died a long time ago. Daravin would not do this. There is only one power that would benefit from such a war, and it is one that we should all fear. A power that not only seeks to conquer our world, but to cull mages wherever it goes, Taelian. If these are genuinely Gelerian mages, they are likely slaves. Perhaps bound by some sort of crude technology. Or perhaps they are self-loathing ideologues; I have heard stories of such. Those faithful to the tenets of New Atheism, a religion they found after receiving their Runes. Perhaps they believe execution in service to the Imperium to be their act of penance; perhaps they were led to believe this way. It is sickening. But not all of them need to die," she said.

"The stakes are high," Eloise continued. "I have one idea far more radical than merely examining their belongings. It is stealing one of them from the scene. It's why I invited you here; it's something only you can do without getting caught. Because of your Quirk -- the one that casts such a wide, impenetrable shadow. They would imagine it to be the mage escaping themselves, but you would be the culprit. Only, they wouldn't know. Even Semblance is disturbed by the shadow, isn't it?"

He nodded.

"Then--"

"Portal in, cast the shadow, take one of the prisoners with me into a new portal. If it all happens relatively simultaneously, there's no way I'll be found."

"Exactly."

"Then I'll do it," he said, calmly. Taelian hadn't really created a perfect portal before, but he was skilled enough, and he had crafted all other variants. It was only a matter of grasping at and understanding the Lychgate. One node -- the other being his soul, which was effectively the gate. Cast, projected, moved. It was the one door that he was the Warden to.

A node formed by the gallows, where the remaining few were lined up. He only had perhaps a few minutes to get this right; to craft it perfectly. One before him, taking on the vision of the wind itself as it coalesced around the node. It was the benefit of drawing exclusively from natural aether; it complimented the environment, in some way. But visibility was also reduced.

The first end of the portal formed, and whether it could allow an organic object such as himself to step through, he would discover when he crafted the second end. Taelian concentrated. The second node, farther away, formed and he directed the stream from one end to the other, the anchor connecting them and boding the two to collide. A wind-like vortex formed at the other side, and immediately he stepped through. Taelian's aether projected outward rapidly, small diluted amounts forming a thick black fog that could not be peered through. It grew and grew until it covered nearly forty meters around him in diameter, though it was far thicker at the core. Taelian already began to hear screams, all around him. Confusion, commotion, the drawing of blades. Footsteps and cries of disappointment. Cries for the Old Gods.

He closed the first node he had crafted, and constructed another much farther away. Somewhere in the forests, by a cave -- somewhere obscure. Then, grabbing the collar of one of the prisoners as tightly as he could, he pulled him back and threw him into the Lychgate. Upon stepping through in pursuit, he shut the portal behind them and left a commotion behind.

He had managed to do it seamlessly. This was the man the Covenant had made him; a saboteur, and a powerful mage.

The prisoner was there before him. A man with wavy blond hair, halfway down to his shoulder. Tan skin, green eyes, sharp features. Taelian didn't speak Gentevarese, but apparently this man didn't either, and so he spoke to him in Common instead.

"The Empire has decided to recall you for another mission. I was sent to bring you back."

A lie. He had never been particularly good at landing them, but this was an easy enough one to make. Both of the suspects were 'Empires'. He had cast a wide net.

Posted: **Tue Jun 30, 2020 5:50 pm**

The man refused to speak. At first he appeared confused, terrified. He looked to Taelian with total loss; as if his magic was an anomaly, strange and terrifying and unwanted. He even appeared to look at him with some form of spite, that fear bleeding into a sort of mistrustful disdain. His doubt regarding this man's identity then only further grew. A Daravain man would not fear magic so, particularly not such displays of it. They were bred to revere it, and it was in their culture to seek it out and understand it. To admire it. Whether or not he was a mage, his roots appeared to be clear. He hadn't proven that he was Gelerian, but he was certainly not Daravain. Or so he thought.

"You're not going to answer me?" he asked. The man's face sunk as he looked away from Taelian. He was defiant, but as Taelian had noted earlier, he was also afraid. And he doubted him -- that he had come to relieve him, as a part of the Empire. Perhaps Taelian was missing some encrypted phrase; something that would have signified him as his actual rescuer. Or maybe, as Eloise would have believed, this man did not expect or want to be rescued. Perhaps he felt it was his place to die for the affliction of magic, a thing he had voluntarily allowed into himself in the past. Whatever the case was, Taelian's manipulation had failed.

"Alright. I see I don't have a bite," he said. The mage faintly grinned.

"I'm not evil like you might think me to be -- just someone who's concerned for the state of the world. If Atinaw does war with Daravin, you see, a series of grave events will certainly follow. Events that you don't want, and I don't want. Because whatever nation you're from, they will be plunged into an eternal war. Like the ones we've seen with Silor, and the Clockwork Empire; the ones that always leave the world in ruins." He frowned, before kneeling and making eye contact with the other man.

"If you're Gelerian, you probably think magic is chaotic and destined to lead to chaos and destruction. It already has led to that. But that is the sort of result you'll get if you back others into a corner -- force them to rely on mages as their only chance for salvation. Daravin needed magic to survive, and now look at what it's become. Ah, right... but you're from there, allegedly. Either way I can't play into your sympathies, because you're from one of two opposing ends of the spectrum. I'll never know which side I'm advocating for."

Taelian began to channel his aether again. "Torture it is, then," he whispered. The mage called upon a Marghozad, performing the Ritual of Reminiscence with a slow motioning gesture of his hand. He performed it again, then, calling upon a second. They appeared beside him, but quickly disappeared into the thick black fog that began to appear around Taelian as it had in the city square. Darkness consumed the prisoner and he was left surrounded by nothing. Only the growls of the Marghozad and the sounds of their steps as they prowled around him.

The voice of the Ebon Knight could be heard from within the black fog. His own steps were mostly silent, but it was obvious from the movement of his voice that he was moving too. His suede shoes lightly climbed along the grass as he spoke, wrapping around the man in a circle. "You don't fear for your life. I understand that. But everyone fears the unknown -- it's why Thultu is the one God most cited in nightmares. In some indirect way, Thultu is my patron. Those creatures I called on are the children of his child, and this darkness is from a sector of his realm known as the Stygian Grave. It's a perfect darkness -- nothing can see through it. Only me and my Vesj'vakar, the creatures of that unknown. We're all looking at you right now."

He paused for a moment. The man would hear thudding across the grass -- and in a moment, one of the Marghozad would climb onto his form, pinning him onto the ground as its tentacles started to crawl across his face. The creature's black claws sunk slightly into his skin, enough to draw blood. Simultaneously, Taelian demanded in a low voice: "Answer me."

"Where are you from?" he followed. The operative began to wail in terror as he attempted to fight the Marghozad off of him, but he was far too weak. "It'll eat you alive and shit you out in the Lost Fathoms, you degenerate."

"You're the degenerate, fucking mage!" the man screamed. That one word appeared to have struck a nerve. That was enough for him to verify that the man wasn't Daravain, though he still couldn't be certain that he was from the Imperium.

"I am a degenerate," Taelian replied. "I'll enjoy watching you get eaten alive. But first," he aimed his palm forward and let out a small torrent of Shrivenflame, grazing the man's arm with burns. He began to writhe and scream. "I'll ensure you experience what it is to be taken by the pyre. Shrivenflame doesn't spread; it can sit on the skin for hours without expanding or going out. Endless pain. I'll char you for my Marghozad so that he can fucking devour you, cretin. How dare you?"

He recoiled in fear and began to sob. He was already wounded, afraid, vulnerable -- easier to break. Taelian was not a skilled interrogator, but he knew how to use fear.

"Wait!" he began to plead. "I'm not afraid to die, but the pyre... I don't want that. Spare me. I'll tell you what you want to know."

Legend of Ransera

[Closed] How Does One Respond To Threats?

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