Open Chronicles A New Home

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Sapphire

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She'd left Alliria as a way of escaping things, but the path she'd taken had led her to a new kind of prison. The fortress city of Vel Anir hadn't been her first choice when deciding to escape her troubles; in fact, it was probably pretty close to the last of her choices. She needed to get away from people, and had found herself in a fortified city populated by the thousands. The only reason Sapphire had even gone here was that it was the furthest from Alliria that the merchant would take her. He had insisted that he had a cure for her, a way to control her abilities. But Sapphire had grown weary of the failed trials, of the caravanning from town to town. As usual, she found that she was best off keeping to herself.

That was proving difficult in Vel Anir. She'd been here a day and had already had to fight off a would-be thief, and struggled to find an inn that would charge a fair price. Landing in a bar by the edge of town late into the evening, she was fortunate to have been met by a kind innkeep who charged a fair price, and kept the kitchen open a little late to accommodate her. On first impressions, this city was a real shit hole. It seemed the type of city that would eat up people like herself, those who had been dealt a bad hand in life. Still, she supposed it couldn't hurt to give the place a few days of a chance... or could it?

She polished off the plate of food that had been made for her, quickly moving on to a round of ale. It wasn't the best she'd had, but it was far from the pisswater they'd served at the inn back home. Sapphire carried her flagon to a chair by the hearth, making sure to keep well away from the other patrons. She didn't want to make another Alliria of this place, not so soon. Scanning across the inn as the bard began to play, she spotted several of the inn's patrons, downing drinks and sharing tales. Finally, her gaze fell on a pair of eyes who, across the room, were staring right at her...
 

Farzad Oldsummer

Dungeon Delver D.D.
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Vel Anir...

The name alone. It rang with the taste of a thousand snake bites. And Farzad was cursed to stumble into its lands. Sharp geometric buildings. Long tapestry flags celebrating hateful families. It was no lie. This land was the prize jewel of humanity and a monument of fear and passion, segregation and isolation.
So how Farzad had stumbled into it, he still was left puzzled.
To be honest. He was never sure. In his lifetime he found it commonplace to cross a mountain with no name, to stumble into a plain with a lost name before finding he had managed to cross half the world and into a valley with a name. He'd be lying if he said stumbling into Vel Anir was unexpected. It was simply his first time. And already he felt that tremendous thud in his chest that told him he had crossed into the wrong side of the world. He was Human, yes. But he often forgot that little part. This was his first time stumbling into the hold of Dreadlords. And he was already hoping it was his last.

But he knew this game well. Whether by Eleth's design, Naspar's machinations or some lost god he couldn't be bothered even thinking of pronunciation, he wallowed on the path before him taking the gamut in stride as he entered a late-night tavern where drink, booze and hooch wafted through the air like a prepubescent boys body odour. But the hour was late, and Farzad had already seen ruffians look at him with hungry eyes.

So with a stumble and a kick forward, he entered the bar with all the glamour, glitz and quiet that Farzad could muster. Verbally quite, visually a cacophony. He had taken what it meant to be a wizard and give it a fresh splash of paint. Multiple layers of the stuff as he seemed weighed down by heavy folds of fabric an intricate backpack that hanged on a long and gnarled branch a lantern that illuminated, but left a half-shadow from his wide-brimmed spiral hat. Didn't matter much, as his face was wrapped in three layers of bandannas of mix and match colour. His eyes scanned the room. There was something off in this bar. He couldn't figure what yet, as he went to the bar and ordered a glass of milk, getting just the right amount of awkward looks for the beverage.
 
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Sapphire

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Sapphire's attention darted from her watcher as the door swung open, an unusual figure entering the tavern and making their way straight to the bar. The figure was well covered by their garments; a series of colorful robes which were woven neatly across their body, with some cloth even covering the figure's face. The wizard, or at least they looked like a wizard, carried a long branched lantern, which put most common torches she'd seen in her time to shame. Sapphire sipped at her ale as the figure spoke to the innkeeper, raising a brow as the unusual individual was served a glass of milk. She wasn't above judging people, and could say that a glass of milk seemed like a fairly miserable drink to order at a tavern at an hour like this. She glanced back to where she'd spotted another tenant glaring at her, to find that the individual was now looking away. What had that been all about?

Perhaps she was allowing paranoia to take a hold of her. She'd been in Vel Anir for a day now, and couldn't help but feel that it was not a safe place to be. She had noticed an all too familiar sensation as she walked the streets of the fortress city. It had felt as though she was being watched. She tried to shake the thought off, shifting her chair closer (but not too close) to the hearth, knocking back the rest of her drink before waving for another.

She found herself wondering what business the wizard had in the tavern. They seemed like an odd fellow, and she'd had little contact with mages in the past; certainly not ones who dressed as fantastically as this. As she awaited her second round, Sapphire cast her eyes across the room once more, wary of any other tenants looking her way.

Farzad Oldsummer
 

Farzad Oldsummer

Dungeon Delver D.D.
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The milk was dirty.

Well. The milk wasn't. But the glass definitely was.

The first day In Vel Anir and his first drink was poor in taste and quality. It's why he preferred milk. Alcohol was thick, viscous and made one forget. Milk didn't and it always accentuated the taste of gutter and refuse that littered a cup. Farzad made the courtesy of finishing it, quickly reviled as his features twisted, but not before covering it up with his bandana. This place seems dirty. He thought, the air was thick with musk, the drinks were potent but only in foulness and in the air lingered something dark and foreboding that no one else seemed to notice. Maybe it was just the oppressive air of Vel Anir.

Or maybe it was just the way of the world saying
'Farzad, ya lazy sod. There's a mystery and only you can solve it.' Maybe not in those exact words, or any words at all and in truth Farzad was likely more still trying to put the pieces of why he had stumbled into this neck of the world. But he, as he does, done and do, got something in his mind and wasn't about to let it go. As he slid the glass across and back to the bartender who somehow managed to roll a lazy eye a wisp of magic tendriled the air, a small scroll that he stuffed into his pocket hummed with music that was drowned in the cry of anguish and buffoonery that littered the tavern night.

It wasn't horribly precise. Magic had a fickle way of being like that, and Farzad's magic, in particular, struggled if it wasn't made specific. And in this case, it was not specific. It gives him a general tug in the right direction. The hearth. Fire. Maybe the fire was odd. Maybe the fire was magical? Maybe the fire was unrelated? Farzad wasn't to be quite sure yet and jumping to conclusions wasn't about to help as he stretched his limbs, almost a bounce to his step as he got off the barstool, halfway bumping into a gruff man twice his size and thrice his weight. Farzad gave a cursory sorry lucky in that he hadn't spilt the moans booze as he twisted on a heel with gliding talent.

Rolling along and towards the fire. Near the source of woe, Farzad could almost taste it. Unfortunately for him, the odd man that he was that lacked the social grace of even a mentally stunted chihuahua that barked at the moon and the sun, knelt down near the hearth. Eyes locked on the flickering light of flame that danced on old blackened wood.
"Morning for it huh?" Farzad blurted out, he seemed confident in his tone but it was clear that he was semi-like a parrot in more than just colour, copying a random phrase he had heard coined to greet people. Who he said it to, he wasn't even sure yet.
 
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Darkensand

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It would be nice to sleep in a Place, where you don't have to expect a Troll or Being of similar Power to suddenly appear out of nowhere to attack you.
Then again, sapient Beings aren't necessary better, sometimes Deception and Trickery can pose a greater Problem than Raw Power.

And so Darkensand stood at the Outskirts of Vel Anir, a Place he would rather sparsely visit.
He would have pass through it, there was no faster Way and he hated to waste Time, even if he had walk into a Den full of Wolves. The average Thug wouldn't pose a Problem, but on the Off-Chance his Mask would be damaged and his true Nature came out, Dread lords and Archons wouldn't be far.
Nothing to scoff at, even he would most likely get overwhelmed by such Raw Power.

An Inn on the Edge, far enough away for him to Departure before any Archons could arrive, or far enough to get rid of Evidence without drawing to much Attention.
But once he stood before it, he felt it.
Once opened, he was certain, the Air carried some Hostility, that coupled with the unusual Amount of above Average Fighters made it clear, the Likelihood of a Fight breaking out was quite high, but the Risk was worth it, so instead of going deeper in to Vel Anir he decided to stay.

Once in, he sat down onto a Table, wrote down some recently newfound Knowledge out of a Book about Dark Magic, sadly the Physical Copy of said Knowledge disappeared shortly afterwards, luckily he had already read it and so could write it now down.

...

Suddenly a Mage stood up and walked towards the Fire, His Appearance was as unusual as it was colorful, Darkensand had to agree, even he wasn't as Attention drawing as this Mage.
Said Mage suddenly said:
"Morning for it huh?"

Odd, he couldn't decipher it's meaning, regardless the Mage seemed interesting and making Acquaintance with him shouldn't be bad, so he replied:
"Well be with you.
If I may be so rude as to inquire, whether you are interested in a more Theoretical Discussion about Magic?"


If he had to stay even temporarily in Vel Anir, he could at least attempt to partake in his Obsession and Passion, sharing and increasing his Knowledge.

Sapphire
Farzad Oldsummer
 
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Farzad Oldsummer

Dungeon Delver D.D.
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He had tossed an ill-fitted log into the fireplace, too much green, too much moisture. A thick plume crumpled his face beneath the thick wrappings that absconded it from common view. He choked and cheated of breath for a moment as quite the number of customers turned and looked at the commotion he had stirred from placing a log onto the firepit. It was at that moment a new presence was felt. One he had managed to avoid. Or was woefully lack of focus as one often was in his state of existence. Blissfully unaware of threat and merriment. That was the life of Farzad, and a good one too that he lived.

He turned halfway around, to avoid the fire's bite and marring form and to prance into the gaze of the masked man. Odd. Masks weren't commonplace in Vel Anir. Maybe. Probably. Farzad wasn't to speak, one hanging by a limp number of threads at his belt. His brow was cocked, he still felt the magical disturbance. He hated that. Always sounded more portent than it really was. Magical disturbances were everywhere, nowhere and somewhere and for all that commonality most were as strange as finding a pea underneath a mattress.


"Well, that's the most direct someone's been with me all day."
He rebutted as sharp as he was to fully turn on a heel. He could still feel it. Dark. Foreboding. Choking the air. People naturally moved away from it. But he was struggling to make it out here. Everyone moved around so often. He was certain he'd find it sooner or later. A pattern would emerge. Maybe he'd pay attention. As he took a stride he looked at the lady near the fireplace. Only one in the mood for warmth. "Sorry about that spillage of smoke." He chewed on those words, stopping to abruptly wave some out of the ladies face with the grace and social edict of a limp octopus that had tangled two of its legs. "The woods not very dry. Or... Too dry? Hard to tell sometimes. But probably the wet part." He almost accidentally slapped them in the face at one point as he snapped over in a movement, legs dragged but the body seemed to wanna stay waving the smoke before reality pulled him along, halfway crashing at the table yet recovering with obtuse grace.

"Aightsowattawegonnadiscussandbroach?"

His words were more like a garbled mess of consonants vowels and some strange dialect that shouldn't have come off a mortals tongue than a sentence.
 
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Darkensand

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What an odd fellow...

Darkensand had certainly encountered his fair Share of odd and strange People, yet all of them were more or less unique in their own Regard.

But this One before him was certainly a bit more unique than the average Ones he had encountered.

From his colorful get up over to his Speech, it was truly chaotic, adding to that, even the Mages Magic had a touch of Chaos.

Nevertheless, Darkensand was always delighted to acquire new Knowledge, and new Knowledge usually could be obtained from unique Beings, like the one before him.

"Depends on whether you are a Universalisr or a Specialist.

While I asseme you have a Basic understanding of the most common Kinds of Magic, if either one of us lacks Expertise about what the other one talks about, it certainly would quickly turn into a more boring than thrilling mood."


It certainly would pose a Problem if he could not enjoy the Discussions, Darkensand after all, despised unfair Trades.

Considering that the Mage probably had slight Issues with controlling his Whirlpool of Magic, there was a high Chance he possessed at least some Knowledge about Runes, to offset the chaotic Natur of his Magic.

So there ceetainly was no harm in at least confirming it.

"Then again, you strike me as a cultured young Mage.

So if my Intution does not fool me, I hope I can assume you possess some Expertise in Rune Magic?"


And yet, Rune Magic's Popularity had sadly fallen considerably.

Maybe talking about theoretical Spacal or Time Distortion?

Darkensand could not remember whether Knowledge about either of these Topics was common or not.

"Aside from that I am also always delighted to discuss Spatial as well as Time Distortions."

Farzad Oldsummer
 
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Farzad Oldsummer

Dungeon Delver D.D.
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"Yes." Farzad was rather blunt and straightforward to the masked wizard. In a topsy-turvy way for most, but this was as direct Farzad ever seemed to manage, "You could call me a generalized specialist. A little bit of specialized knowledge in a wide field of universal magic." He clarified as best he could, as poor as it may have been.

"And you strike me as a flirt." Farzad blushed in kind, waving him off at the compliment.
"And you'd be correct." Farzad was rather quick to reply, pulling out a small vial of ink, it moved with melancholy even when it wasn't touched, like slow lapping waves of blue rolling between itself in the small glass container. "Though limited. What are you looking to know? I know older Runic Theroums. Not modern. Too much bookwork. Not enough fun or guesswork." He sharply replied, the vial leaked with magic, a thick invisible aroma that wafted from the tightly wound cork.

"Oh time? Spatial Distortiatons? Oh, I'm familiar with that sorta kinda not really. No idea how it works. Pretty sure it happens though. Like a lot."
He continued, by now he ran his finger at the top of the cork, slowly turning the vial as the water moved irrationally more, more so than the input he had mustered in turning the vial at the very least.
 
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Darkensand

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"How delightful to meet not only someone that knows Rune Magic, but also someone that specializes in older Theroums.

I am certainly quite familiar with older Ones as well as the more modern ones I created myself.

I do have to say, it strikes me as surprise, that an Individual with your special Condition would not Focus on a singular Area to increase Control, then again, creating Boundaries just because of little Control Issues strikes me as a Contradiction for why most Beings learn Magic.

While specialising in a singular Area has the advantage of greater Control and Powers, it also leads most often to stagnation.

Specializing in none most often allows for a constant broadening of ones own Knowledge."


Trouble...

"While I would truly enjoy further talks, it seems we will have to delay our Conversation.

It seems we have company."

The Door swung open.
A figure entered the Tavern, exuding an Aura that would force most down on their knees, be it willingly or unwillingly.

It seemed, like trouble had finally shown itself.

Farzad Oldsummer
 
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Farzad Oldsummer

Dungeon Delver D.D.
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"It is isn't it! And the fact you didn't question, quiz or query I am so very titillated to know you are no different." Farzad exclaimed with met jubilation, though his voice still barreled on a whisper in comparison to the noisiness of the common bargoers that littered the place. He didn't place much emphasis though on his claims of creation. Magic was a fickle thing and every child noviciate he knew had created some rudimentary spell. It was the basics of creativity for a child to create without a guide though this man was far from a child. He put it on the backburner as he continued to ply and play with his small bottle of ink attention waxed and wane, his mind musing between the dozens of people that wandered around the room with drunken grace.

What did strike him as strange was him being aware of his condition. He asked strange questions. Or maybe Farzad's reputation was getting ahead of himself. He wasn't exactly against becoming famous, he just knew his fame currently laid with debt collectors and little else. Instead, Farzad let him talk, his facial expressions covered by the litany of bandanna's that shrouded his visage. All that was shown were drifting eyes and a cocked brow.


"Personally. One brand of magic's boring. No charm, no cleverness and eventually there's nowhere left to go. Now multiple, I'm sure you'd understand, now that's fun. Combine a couple of different schools and see what you get."

Of course, the discussion came crashing down. He wasn't sure how he didn't notice it, though the scent of black magic still lingered near the fireplace and he couldn't deny something magical was excluding the man before him. Which... Wasn't shocking considering their line of discussion.

Farzad was quick to lower his head, his muscles faux'd strain as he let himself crumple beneath the will of magic. This was Vel Anir. This would be strange elsewhere but Dreadlords were known for their military prowess. And while he had always been excited to match and square his magic against there's, on home ground wasn't the place. Nor was it without knowledge of who he faced.
 
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Darkensand

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Balthasar...
One of the less common second-Rank Dreadlords, while certainly no match for Darkensand, he should possess enough power for the other Dreadlords to arrive before Darkensand could depart.

And Darkensand certainly is currently not capable of taking on several Archons at once, at least not without risking eternal extinction.

While said Dreadlord did not seem to be here for Darkensand or his interlocutor, he had quite a bit of information about Balthasar.

Aside from his Rank, he was known to possess Powers that could indeed rival lesser first-Rank Dreadlords, yet what held him back was his ineptitude in politics and personal disdain for cunningness itself.

Truly an unusual fellow compared to most Dreadlords.

Unfortunately, while he was not one that worked in the Shadows, his Reputation certainly pictured him as brash, impulsive, cruel and ambitious.

And this ambitiousness, would, and had in the past, some sources claim, certainly lead to him accusing non-citiziens of Vel Anir, mostly non human but often enough humans as well, of planning to / or having committed foul or vile Acts and Deeds.

Apparently, he tries to climb the ladder with these "justful" Impridonements of Strangers and so far he had yet to be reprimanded, not only that, the reason he made it to the second Rank despite his coomplete lack for scheming was the enormous amoubt of Cases and Imprisonements.

It was quite obvious, that the Dreadlord would accuse the both of them and try to detain them.

It was even more obvious that he would certainly use even the slightest amount of resistance as justification to kill the two of them, after all, once they were dead, who could possibly claim that they were not being unjustfully detained.

So ultimately a fight was most likely unavoidable.

"I fear, my friend, the Dreadlord does not plan to end this peacefully, I would advise against letting him detain you, that is, if you do not wish to die.

I can tell you that the Dreadlord, called Balthasar, second-Rank, although in Terms of combat prowess he can be compared to a first-Rank Dreadlord, is well-known for accidentally killing detained Suspects.

So I do hope you had fighting a Dreadlord, on your to-do list.

So to say, a fight seems unavoidable, therefore you should ready yourself Now!"


Farzad Oldsummer
 
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Farzad Oldsummer

Dungeon Delver D.D.
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Farzad look at him and gave a shrug while feigning weakness under the oppressive aura. "You know. Fighting one is completely on my to-do list. Not sure where but definitely in the top five hundred things to do after I come back from the dead." Farzad jested, lacking the tonality of finality that was slowly closing in on his doorstep.

"However. And it's important."

There was a beat, lips curled visible beneath the stretches of masks.

"I don't plan on doing it here. So I hope, you too have an escape plan."
Farzad replied rather whimsy, the curl of his lips, the upbeat jazz to his words and the passive incredulity undid quite a fair amount of the foreboding nature that grew not too dissimilar to a growing flame, heat growing heavier and heavier as it grew nearer. And as the tempest reached its beautiful crescendo, Farzad enacted step one of his unknown number of step plans.

He kept his head down and crawled in the opposite direction.