Fate - First Reply Eyes of the Storm

[Iscandor Karon]

Iscandor was wandering through the forest where the academy resided, just trying to find some time where he could be not cramped in by the restrictive regulations inside it's halls. As he walked along, the night rainy and storming, he'd reminisce about how his affinity for the idea of water came to be. His parents used to take him to the beach before they died, and the family also paid their respects to Distral. As he went to the beach more and more, he started to idolize the god. The ocean was incredibly beautiful, so he must be as well. Water was unpredictable and free and therefore it's god must have been the same, and those ideas reflected everything the little kid wanted to be. Even now, eleven years after he had discovered his magic, he pays his respects to Distral. Flicking a gold into a puddle, more than anything he'd ever spent on anyone other than himself, he hoped no ignorant traveler would come and pick it up.

As though by a miracle, the thunder above roared tremendously as soon as the coin hit the water. The young man didn't know it yet, but that thunder was no coincidence. It just so happened that high in the sky, or so he would think later, the water god was mourning the loss of his prized weapon. Iscandor, however, so used to the water, continued to walk along, the refreshing patter of water calming him through the terribly loud crashing of the storm. He was nearing the edge of the forest, having resolved to visit a tavern inside the kingdom, but something was off. He felt a strange type of cold, one you might experience sitting in the snowy tundra or high mountains, but how could that be? It was impossible, unless caused by some sort of magic. Deftly turning around and leaving the promise of resting in a warm pub merely a wish, he would begin to move towards the cold.

When he finally made it to the clearing where the freezing air seemed to be originating from, he noticed a shiny blue object stuck into the ground like it was driven into it, the splash of dirt among the constant, green grass like an incredibly strong impact had blown it all away. He shivered as he pushed further toward the shiny object, the cold startlingly strong even for the water manipulating man. Still, he pushed forward. The dagger had to be no coincidence, given he had just been thinking about the god of ice (among other things), but still, he knew that much more than that had been given in service of Distral. Perhaps then, he was the most fit to use it? There was no explanation viable enough to mollify him other than fate, and no reason he could see himself worthy enough to warrant such a grand sign. Finally arriving and standing idly in front of the blade stuck in the ground, he’d put his hand on the hilt and freeze for a second before dropping to his knees.

As if sensing a giant amount of Mana flowing into his body, his body reacted. His eye began to quickly twitch open and closed, and his arms took to shaking like a scared child. Then, everything went instantly black. Little did he know, the rage of the water god also found it’s way to the earth through Permafrost, and when he woke up, he found that a bandit looking pickpocket was currently rummaging through his pack and clothes for everything he had. The bandit noticed he was stirring, and boldly took out a small bat which he then attempted to whack Iscandor in the head with, smiling in a way that was at once greedy and smug. However, something odd happened as he perceived the incoming blow. It seemed to be moving in slow motion, for some reason, and he rolled aside and heard the smooth wood thunk to the ground a couple feet from him. The bandit looked at him in surprise, and by then it was too late for him. Iscandor roared, his eyes which bore into his foe as dark and endless as a storming sea. The sound that came out deafened the both of them for a moment, as though a hurricane was crashing through a town.

It was still raining, and Iscandor recovered first, freezing the bandit's feet to the floor using the rain that had been on the floor and his shoes. Then, the real fun began. Iscandor, now completely furious at the thought of what his soon to be unfortunate victim had intended to do, began forming icicles in the sky using the rain and then skewering the bandit on them, sending each and every projectile into their back and leaving the point resting just through their front. The bandit was well and dead now, having been punctured thirty-seven times this way, but Iscandor would not stop. He let the man bleed until all of them were crimson red with his blood. Finally sighing a breath of tiredness, he'd summon a giant fist made big by the rain and freeze it, sending it down on the poor man with the force of a giant's sledgehammer, turning the person that once stood there into a pile of mush, broken red icicles still burrowed inside the crushed body. Only pink, liquid brain matter dripping from a crevice between the rock and the ground would tell the horrifying truth that someone was there.

Still, though the Ocean could get mad and dangerous, Iscandor himself had never been this angry before in his entire life, and something just... broke. His spell failed, and the mana malfunction caused him to stiffen like a board and then fall unconscious again next to his bloody monument. The manipulation of anything must be done with a right mind, and he certainly did not have one at this juncture. Only time would tell if someone discovered his crime, but all he could do besides sleep was have an instinctual grip upon the cold knife. When commoners praying at the church near his home get told this part of the story, it is played off as divine punishment, as the young man had held a piece of the god, but it was in fact a lesson. Now, our story continues from this point.

(For the sake of convenience in joining, he's near the front gate of a town near the academy)

 

[Kristen Pirian]

Kristen spent the early morning in dutiful, reverent prayer. To Aionus she gave thanks, and from him she beseeched the means to enact his will upon Arethil, and further for his favor in guiding her toward tribulations that she might worthily overcome. Supplication to the gods was not merely the means by which she could restore her magic, for even if she had not been so gifted with Divine Magic then the act of prayer would still in no way be diminished as a fulfilling spiritual practice. Truly, Celestialism, her faith in Aionus the Holy Sentinel, had saved her from the darkest time in her life.

When Kristen finished, it was still raining outside of her small tent—this with no sign of letting up soon, despite having continued all through the night. She sat by the tent flaps, peering out as the downpour persisted. Well, she had prayed for tribulation, hadn't she? Large or small, one mustn't doubt that tribulation of any degree presented the means to refine one's character. Where would she be now if not for the hardships she'd endured at the Academy? Probably at one of the Pirian Estates, far too meek and prissy to even step foot outside in a drizzle much less a downpour.

Kristen left her tent and quickly packed up her camp. Hood of her cloak up, traveling pack shouldered, she set off. Today ought to be the day when she got back to the Academy.

Yet something of a surprise was in store for her.

The trek through the rain on the road was not unlike other travels in inclement weather. She would have liked to have had a horse for her mission, but in this instance she'd been denied one. All was well. The mission had been simple, routine almost, and not so far away from the Academy to begin with, and she'd be back before sundown today after less than a week on the ordeal altogether. The chill from the rain was unpleasant, but surely, this would only make the warmth of some hot tea, say, or the warmth of her own blankets, say, even better. So she pressed on.

Then came that surprise.

Just outside the front gates of the last town before the further fork in the road, she saw a sight which first inspired puzzlement, then alarm. At first she couldn't tell what was lying in the road. But then as she got closer the picture became clearer. It was the form of a person. Kristen picked up her pace, seeking to kneel beside the prone person, yet as she came near a terrible cold bit into her bones. She gasped. Yelped, even, in her surprise as the extent of the cold washed over her. She all but leapt backwards, and once far enough away that deep freeze—suited more for a blizzard than a mere rainstorm—faded as though it were never there.

Confusion now shared residence with alarm. What was that?

Undeterred, Kristen circled around the unconscious person as they lay there, keeping to the edge of that unnatural chill. And at last from the right angle she saw then that it was none other than Iscandor Karon, a fellow Initiate. He was clutching a weapon in one hand, despite his condition.

"Iscandor?" she called to him, her voice raised not just by the need to speak over the din of the rain, but by rising alarm as well He was in the center of awful and unnatural spot of cold, after all. "Iscandor, are you well? Can you hear me?"

A striking thought.

"Have you been injured?" And then more to herself: "Blessed Aionus, I hope it is not so!"

For what Divine Magic of which she was capable, of those Conjurations and Curses, none would be of any help here. Though Kristen longed dearly for the beneficent power, Aionus had not yet seen fit to grant her any such magic of healing or blessings.

Iscandor Karon

 

[Iscandor Karon]

Iscandor groggily awoke, but he was not in the same place. Instead of the ground he faceplanted into, he rolled onto his back and felt the rough touch of wood. It was sturdy, and the sails appeared to reach to the sky. A warship, most likely, but why would this dream happen now? Suddenly, a ball of water would rise from the endless ocean, and began…speaking, for some reason. “What you hold is mine, but I will trade it for someone to spread my name. The Laws forbid going down to the human world, but my consciousness can be transferred into you, which will now happen. Ready?”

The water sphere would then shoot forward and into his mouth. As this happened, strange things begun occurring in the real world. Iscandor sat up and Distral saw the world through his eyes and nearly cried noticing Permafrost was within this wretched mortal’s grasp. More than that, though, he was completely and utterly furious. Another human was in front of him, and he used the ability of water manipulation to make tiny needles of water form in a ring around Kristen’s neck, nearly unnoticeable due to the rain. They would then freeze into sharp icicles and he would hold them in place.

Iscandor/Distral would glare at Kristen, and the words that came next were as cold and stormy as a hurricane. “Speak, little girl. Tell me where I am and what time it is. I will kill you if these orders are not followed this sec-“ Back inside the dream, Iscandor began choking and drowning. Still, he managed to keep his wits about him and draw out the water orb, freezing it into the coldest ice he could manage. This also meant things changed outside, and Iscandor began to think freely, albeit for the time being. He would remember what was said and give an apologetic look, wondering how he could explain something so outlandish. Still, that didn’t mean he couldn’t melt the ice needles, which he barely saw among the raindrops.

They were small, but some of them were nearly aligned with vital arteries and could kill if given enough force. He looked around for a second and spotted a bloody statue made of ice, realizing what might have happened the first time he fell asleep. His countenance became serious, and he began to speak more urgently. He couldn't afford to lose it over having killed someone right now. It wouldn't help, but maybe his friend could. “If I say what I just said to you again, hit me hard enough to knock me out. It needs to be one strike, or I’ll go nuts. Did you see the statue of the giant fist? I think that was a person.”

Hopefully his trademark longwindedness would reveal to Kristen that the person talking was the real thing. His eyes would close again as he faded back into the dream, where the water sphere burst open and slammed him back from the sheer water pressure. Like he himself had done many times before, the sphere would begin to gather water behind him, turning into different sized spheres and projectiles. Iscandor himself would focus and draw water as well, getting ready to fight. I need to learn to escape this dream, or else he'll never stop possessing me. It seems that when the water sphere enters my body, whoever this person is will take over my physical body. Hopefully Kristen got my message, or I'll probably get the death penalty for the rampage I might go on.

Kristen Pirian

 

[Kristen Pirian]

Little girl.

In almost any other context, such a remark would have been a pleasant surprise, even enamoring; Kristen had always adored smaller girls like Fennec for their height, always herself a touch insecure about her own. Yet the strange manner in which Iscandor suddenly went from prone to sitting, the particular cadence of his speech, what he said, these were all alarming in their own right.

But they were all nothing compared to the sudden aggression of the ice needles, formed from the very rain, threatening to puncture through her neck each as surely as a blade. Kristen gasped as soon as the ice needles were manifested. Froze. Stayed in her crouch perfectly still for fear of her life. Blessed Aionus, what was wrong with him?

"Iscandor..." she began to say slowly, carefully, "...it is I, Kristen P—"

Knowing nothing of the struggle within the dream, to Kristen it seemed to work, her reiteration of her identity, that yes, indeed, she was a friend. The apologetic look and the dispelling of the ice needles set everything to rights. Perhaps he'd been merely disoriented, or so on edge following whatever awful ordeal had seen him collapsed outside of town that his aggression was more prudence than callousness. Still, Kristen couldn't but to sigh in relief when those deadly shards of ice were gone.

What he said next was somewhat baffling, and her brow narrowed quizzically.

"Iscandor, what do you mean? What's wrong? Why...would I need to do that?"

Did you see the statue of the giant fist? I think that was a person.

This added to her confusion (what in the name of Astra and whole Court of Stars was going on here?), but she made the effort to stand and to have a look around the immediate surroundings. So focused had she been on the figure of Iscandor lying on the ground during her approach that anything else could have easily escaped her notice. Yet through the trees and brush of the forest Kristen at last noticed, startlingly close by, an odd sight, the color of ice clashing against the green of the natural wilds. From her present vantage, there didn't...seem to be a person over there near it though.

"I-I believe I see it now, yes," she said, looking back down to Iscandor then.

Only to see that he had again slipped into unconsciousness.

Kristen pressed a hand to her forehead, fretting at what seemed increasingly a grave peril that she as yet could not fully understand. That strange weapon, the aura of cold, the ice fist, Iscandor's troubling request to be subdued...all of it combined to make a terrible tapestry of danger.

Iscandor Karon

 

[Iscandor Karon]

Around him, the water began turning to ice. The ship stopped moving, and became frozen as ice filled the cracks and connected the hull to the rest of the small landmass that had formed. The weather was no longer clear, and instead the sky began to darken. Rain started to fall, which froze into snow. Suddenly, they were facing off in a winter wonderland instead of a sunny sea. Somehow, though cold never really bothered him, he felt a chill.

This chill was unlike the others he had ever felt, given that it even pervaded his leather clothes and furry coat. He had never really felt this sort of sensation, and though it never showed, his body was scared and began chattering even though he was still pretty warm. Nothing was scarier than the unknown, and Iscandor knew that even as he refused to accept being afraid of something as minute as a small chill.

"I hold your weapon? Well, I'm certainly not inclined to give it back when you're being such a terrible snob about this whole thing," He'd see the ball of water begin to boil and steam as if it was angry, zipping up and down as the voice raged, each word like a crack of thunder: "Disrespect? That's your move here? You don't seem to understand, you cocky little-" For a minute, the ball of water stopped talking, as if it was overcome.

In that small moment, Iscandor began chuckling a bit, and then started laughing. "I don't think you know who this is, but you remind me of Leander, for some reason. Still, even he's not this irritable, so that says something." The water bubbled for a second, as if spluttering. "Did you just compare me to some mortal? DID YOU JUST COMPARE ME TO SOME MORTAL? I HAVE NO IDEA WHO YOU ARE TALKING ABOUT, BUT IT IS NO GOD I HAVE EVER HEARD OF." Iscandor would snicker at the line exploding for the sphere, planning on saying something he knew would end the banter.

"I've heard of god complexes, but you're the first person I've ever talked to that had one larger than Flavien's, and you'd find that insulting if you heard him speak to anyone but Leander and his equally annoying lonely lapdog Garrett." Then, the sphere said something interesting, stated so seriously he began to believe that the three dimensional shape was not just talking big. "I don't even need to know him to find that insulting. I AM A GOD, INCOMPARABLE TO A HUMAN, AND FAR ABOVE YOU. TIME TO DIE, YOU LITTLE FUCKING SHIT." With that, the sphere began attacking, first sending incredibly fast water bullets towards the Initiate to strike him in the head.

Iscandor began reciting a counterspell, but even though he finished before they had hit him, nothing happened. How, though? That makes no sense, He'd think as the force of the blow sent his head spinning and his body crashing to the deck. Through hazy eyes, he vaguely saw a giant pillar of water forming above him and just managed to roll out of the way as the mass of water froze and was sent down on where he once laid. As he stayed there, unable to move, an odd feeling would begin to occur. His entire right side would get cold, so much colder than his other leg. Reaching down to his hips, he would latch on to a similarly icy hilt.

Pulling out the weapon, the sphere would involuntarily curse as soon as it "saw" what he was holding. Inwardly, the sphere knew how dangerous such a weapon was. It could cut through the flow of magic, disabling its function. There were other things, but this one worried him the most. The shape could only hope the wielder was not aware of the weapon's capabilities. Iscandor finally stood and brandished the weapon, accidentally cutting one of his own projectiles. The water bullet froze and droppe to the deck, and Iscandor noticed he could no longer manipulate it. It was like it's magic reception turned off. He smiled seeing this, realizing the sphere must be magic or something similar, which is why it was afraid. For some reason, I can't overpower it's spells with mine, so it's water manipulation can probably beat mine as well. This will have to do.

"Game on." ​

 

[Kristen Pirian]

Kristen knew only of Iscandor lying there on the ground, being pelted by the rain, being trapped—so far as she could tell—within that sphere of unnatural cold.

She let her hands fall to her sides. "Alright. Okay. Very well," she said, speaking to herself as a means to straight out her thoughts—and her worries. "Something peculiar is afoot. Something very peculiar. Oh, if you could but wake!"

But laments would solve nothing. What she had before her were, essentially, two things would stood in stark relief as potential sources of Iscandor's present woe. There was that strange weapon in his hand, yes, but...was it something he always had? She didn't know, not for certain, but she did not remember ever seeing him wielding such a thing before in what few interactions she had with him. Was it the weapon that was causing the aura of cold, or was it Iscandor's own magic gone awry? She could try removing the weapon from his hand via one of her summoned Chains, but that...perhaps it was best not to meddle with something she knew so little about, unless the need became dire.

The other thing, aside from the weapon, was that giant ice fist Iscandor had called attention to. Mayhap there was something about it which would help explain the present conundrum?

"I shan't be going far," Kristen said, knowing not whether Iscandor could actually hear her, but saying it all the same, "Only mere steps away. To the giant fist, so mentioned by yourself."

Kristen circled around, staying clear of the aura of cold, and approached the fist. It certainly seemed like something Iscandor could conjure, especially given the current downpour—plenty of rain by which all that ice could be coalesced. There was, however, an odd sight at the base of the clenched fist. Kristen knelt down. Peered closely. Some kind of...reddish?...pinkish?...splatter on the statue, on the rock beneath.

I think that was a person.

Kristen clapped both her hands, real and artificial, over her mouth, smothering her shocked gasp. She glanced back toward Iscandor, lying there. Back to the smear. To Iscandor. To the smear. The rain seemed louder to her now, as though her hearing had become far more acute in her alarm. She could hear as well the pulse of her heart in her ears.

"What happened?" she whispered into the cradle of her covering palms. "What did you do?"

She made the effort to calm her nerves with reason. Don't jump to conclusions. There is much that you do not know of what transpired here. Mayhap beneath that fist is the foulest enemy Vel Anir has ever known, mayhap a Rogue Dreadlord, mayhap a common highwayman. When Iscandor wakes and his delirium fades, all shall be made clear.

So she hoped. But there were, of course, Initiates still given to the brutalities of the old way...

Gods, let it not be so.

Iscandor Karon

 

[Iscandor Karon]

Odd it was, the rush of power he felt holding this blade. It was engraved with glowing blue runes, in a language he could not decipher, wielded against some person who revealed neither name nor face. He closed his eyes for a second and began focusing on eveything around him. It was mostly dark, except for his target, which now appeared as nothing but a luminescent ball, sparkling with powerful magic. Besides that, there were the attacks made of ice and water, which he could also see along with his glowing blue weapon, the one even the sphere was scared of.

As if testing him, the sphere would launch a spear of ice, which Iscandor would dodge and cut into with the knife, subtly watching as magic left the now cut piece of ice and turning back to face his enemy just as he heard the projectile hit a wall and shatter into pieces. Running toward the sphere, he would just barely slide under a pillar of ice, shooting inches above his head and slamming through what must have been the door to the captain's cabin. The shape seemed to almost quiver, a wall of water forming as he swung the weapon towards the sphere, which immediately froze and blocked the attempt at an attack.

Iscandor noticed another glowing area behind the wall of ice and yanked the dagger out of the wall before sidestepping what must have been some kind of projectile, the glowing ball rocketing past him and hitting..something, most likely the mast. A sound would confirm this theory, the crack of splintering wood turning his power off and sight back on. Just managing to dodge the falling mast, the young initiate would feel a burning pain in his shoulder as a razor sharp icicle stabbed into his leather armor and burrowed into soft flesh hidden beneath. It was pretty obvious he would be bleeding from that for a while, and he began to spiral out of control a bit.

See, ever since he discovered his magic, Iscandor has never really felt the panic most others do, given he hasn't had to face death much. That is mostly thanks to his strategic skills, but his somewhat prodigious magic control in combat also helped. Now, though, he was facing someone stronger than him who controlled the same thing he did, meaning he was basically magic-less for the time being. Watching his hand shake, Iscandor would grit his teeth and move forward, his steps a bit more frantic. He knew it was a dream, but why was his fear so...real? Shaking his head, he would focus less on defending and more on attacking, trying to get forward before his foe could set up more defenses.

After a few moments of rather complicated acrobatics, Iscandor miraculously got close enough to turn the battle into an ordeal of close combat. As they clashed, the young initiate realized that his slashes were being met weirdly, almost as if there was no real intention behind the defensive parries. He's underestimating me. I mean, my performance has been pretty crappy, but there's like no effort at all behind his moves. He bristled at this thought and on the next strike feinted and managed to poke the sphere, momentarily freezing it and sending it tumbling to the floor. As the magic was wearing off, he tossed the ball in the air and cut it fully, sealing away the god within the dream. Finally, the battle was over.

Iscandor opened his eyes and felt a bit light-headed, a sudden pain in his shoulder sending a shiver through his spine. "Kristen, I need-" He was planning to say so many things and refute intentionally killing whoever was below the fist which sent them to the grave, but instead a feeling of tiredness knocked his feet out from under him and spread as he continued falling to the floor, finally reaching his head and causing him to lose consciousness, falling asleep immediately.

Kristen Pirian

 

[Kristen Pirian]

Again Iscandor was roused, but this time all he was able to say were three words before again he was out. Whatever small notion Kristen had when first she came upon the scene that this unconsciousness of his might be natural fled from her mind now.

"You need what, Iscandor, what?" Kristen exclaimed with a helpless desperation, pressing her palms to her temples. Gods! Wounds she could see, sicknesses could be deduced if not also seen, but what was ailing her fellow Initiate here and now? What had happened here to bring so dire a situation to pass?

All her thoughts just came right back around to that dagger. Strange and alien, almost as if it were commanding Iscandor to hold it tightly even in his slumber, what else could it be? To Kristen it made no clear sense that Iscandor's own magic might be turning against him for any reason; and with him being unconscious, something had to be maintaining that aura of frigid, unnatural cold around him. He could die to exposure, what with the pouring rain and that cold sucking away his body's vital warmth!

Yet another thought, one of even greater uncertainty and caution, presented itself to her. What if trying to remove the dagger from Iscandor's grasp made things even worse? Mayhap Iscandor was actually keeping the power of that dagger restrained in some manner. Unbound magic could be a dangerous—a catastrophic—thing.

But Kristen had a decision to make, one way or the other. And she decided to go with the course that required action rather than inaction.

"Okay...okay..." she said, plunging into simple vernacular in her nervousness. She walked around the perimeter of the chilling aura until she was closest to the hand which gripped the dagger. "A risky venture, but..."

She couldn't just sit back and hope that Iscandor woke in a timely matter. So from her artificial hand came a summoned Withering Chain, flowing out from her porcelain palm like a languid snake over which she had command. The Chain hovered just above the ground, extending out slowly, reaching toward the magic weapon which Iscandor grasped. Kristen bit her lip. Then, carefully, she willed the Chain to slowly constrict about the blade of Permafrost.

Iscandor Karon