Private Tales Home Is Where The Heart Is

A private roleplay only for those invited by the first writer

Erren Serris

Disgraced Maester
Elbion College
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Character Biography
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The soft sounds of a young voice singing rang through the small dusty little house, bouncing off the walls barren of paint or picture only to be stopped by the foggy windows from escaping out into the noisy streets of Elbion. It was stuffy and cramped, and the world outside these walls was hostile to him, but Elbion was Erren Serris' home. It had been for his entire life, even if it rejected his presence more and more with every passing day.

At one point, he'd been heralded here. Erren had been looked up to as a Maester of the College: A beacon of knowledge for all to admire and aspire to. For quite some time, Serris had been certain he'd found his calling in life, that happiness was a luxury he'd achieved at last. Questions nagged at him though, unanswered mysteries that taunted him day after day. All it took was one exposed thread to be found. and Erren pulled, unraveling the web of lies that had surrounded him for his entire life.

In doing so, he made Elbion his enemy.

Even the most well-regarded places in the world have secrets. With secrets come people who want to keep them quiet. It just so happened that said people were in a position to take away everything he'd ever worked for in his life. Well, almost everything. Some things were indeed forever.

"I'm getting better, daddy!"

The salt-and-pepper beard covering Erren's face moved as he grinned down at the swaying form of his son, singing his heart out for his father the way he did whenever Erren was able to come home. Zak was always coming up with new songs and dances, proclaiming he'd one day perform for the entire world to see. Erren believed him, the brown-haired child was so passionate about making others smile that it filled him with pride.

"You are! A little more practice and I bet you'll be the best dancer in the city!"

The child beamed up at him, as Erren rested a hand in his son's hair. Moments with Zak were fleeting, uncommon. Serris wasn't ever allowed to stay at home for very long before being called away for work. Still, Zak was always waiting for him when he returned.

Even if it broke Erren's heart to leave him.

"I have to go now, Zak. Jessa's here to watch you until I'm back."

There were tears, complaints, and promises made that he knew he couldn't keep, but he needed to leave. Jessa would watch over him well; she was far more of a mother to the boy than he was a father. That guilt rested heavily on his heart as he pulled his hood up, ducking into the Elbion streets.

Normally he would have had a bit more time. Today, however, there was somebody he needed to see, somebody who he prayed could give him some form of assistance. There'd been whispers of a man who knew of Erren's plight, who sympathized with him in a way no other Maester did.

Erren sought Hieronymus Pangloss.

Hieronymus Pangloss
 
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"One would think that in an establishment such as the college, so famed for its more egalitarian thinking, a modicum of peace and unity could be found," a long bearded man said from his seat at his bedside, the candle light flickered.

"Hieron," came the voice of another man laying in bed beside him. "As much as I love your dreary little nothings, the sun has barely started to bother me," he rolled over, covering his naked body with the sheets. "Go on, get yourself a nice cup of coffee and some fresh air, hmm?" he waved a hand over his shoulder. "Whatever it takes for you to leave me with a few more minutes of sleep,"

Hieron smiled softly to himself. 'Suppose you are right, Leo," he truned and planted a soft kiss upon his partners earthy green shoulder, and got up to his feet. "Would you like for me to bring you anything back?" he asked as he dawned his underclothes and slipped into the brilliant red of his robe.

"Some chocolates would be nice," Leo said sleepily. "A bit of honey for our tea," he yawned gently. "We are running low,"

Belt fastened across his waist, Hieronymus nodded, and dawned his hat. "Very well,"


It was well after the morning hours, the sweet smell of honeyed tea and the sweeter sound of his Leo's laughter almost a distant memory now as he sat behind the length of an old wooden desk, brow furrowed as he read over pieces of parchment. His feathered pen, magically moving on its own, scratched a circle about the folium. His office, in the school of Arcanomancy and Etheric Studies, was a cramped thing, dominated by bookshelves and knickknacks. There was some semblance of order, but, one that was only obvious to the chaotic mind that birthed it.

A knock came at the door, and Hieron's feather quill gently set itself against an ink pot, and he gathered his papers. "Yes, who is it?"

"Maester Panglos, one, Erren Serris, here to meet you,"
came the voice of his young half-elf assistant.

"Very good, let them in, Thalum," the door creaked open. "Have a seat, Maester Serris, please," the old wizard motioned to the seat before him.

Erren Serris
 
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The school's halls were as noisy and crowded as ever in the morning hours; students shuffled from their homes and dorms to the first classes of the morning, or to study sessions arranged ahead of time with their peers. None paid much mind. Watching the bustle of it all did fill him with some small bit of nostalgia for his time as a student. Things had been far simpler then, when he was a distinguished student without a care for what those above him thought of him.

Then, he'd been made an example out of. Stripped of the title of Maester he'd worked 20 years building, humiliated and branded a delinquent. Now his work consisted of long trips away from home, dangerous tasks with little to no support from the Academy. One day, these tasks would kill him. Only then would they let him rest.

Needless to say it was not the first time he'd entered the cramped little office space tucked into the corner of the Arcanomancy school. Erren had once worked alongside the noble Maester Pangloss when he also held the title, and when things turned sour, Heiron had been one of the only other Maesters to speak out against his dismissal and ousting.

Serris appreciated it greatly, but it hadn't been enough.

The musty smell of old books filled Erren's nostrils as the Maester greeted him and offered him a seat. A soft chuckle came from his throat as he took said seat, shaking his head. "You insist on using that title with me, Hieron. It's nearly mockery now." He knew the man meant nothing but respect when he called Serris Maester, but it was hollow. That had been taken from him. "How've things been? I didn't recognize your assistant out there. A half-elf, isn't he? I suppose the last one would have graduated and moved on by now... Time really has flown."

A pause, Erren's tongue tucking into his cheek as he looks down into his lap for a moment. "They want me dead, Hieron. They're sending me to the Blightlands."

Hieronymus Pangloss
 
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Hieron's brows scrunched at Erren's comment. Not out of offense, his wrinkled features looked more pained than anything. As if an old wound was acting up. "Forgive me, Erren, a grey mule leaves old habits hard," he said with an apologetic bow of the head. "Indeed he is, and so she has, Scholar Tuvian Serra, I believe you two had known each other," the old wizard smiled full of bittersweet nostalgia. "Helped me with my research on elemental dissipation at the point of focus,"

Erren had been there to tip things into their favor, if only enough to avoid injury, while brave Tuvian practiced nullifying the spouts of flame and lightning called forth by their volunteers. There were a few close calls, but, nothing such talented and prepared wizards couldn't handle... after singed brows and a few drinks. Simpler times, to be sure.

What they had done to Erren, how they had stripped him of all he had worked so hard to earn. Hieron wished it was criminal. Wished he could simply litigate in favor of a pupil he knew to be a good man. One of the few that had earned the title of Maester from their sanctified Elbion.

A stern nod was all Hieron could give as his response. "I have heard news," he said, his face mortally serious. "No matter what I've tried to dig up as to why they are doing this, they've kept the trail well hidden," Hieron leaned back, and looked over his former pupil carefully. "I can continue offering aid, supply you with funding, reach out to my contacts to see you well connected," he shook his head in dismay. "But to think they would send you to such a place..." he shook his head. "When are you due to venture off?"

Surely, there was something to be done to help this man avoid the fate some of The Foard seemed so invested in delivering.

A name came to mind as the old wizard sat back and ran his fingers through his beard, deep in thought. A trusted soul on The Foard who had heard his concerns in the past, though even she seemed out of machinations of her colleagues. Cassindra Tivientud.

Erren Serris
 
It said something about the sad state of his reputation that the agreeable and pleasant conversation he was having with Hieron was downright refreshing. It was growing increasingly difficult to find anybody in Elbion who didn't see him as what he'd been painted as rather than what he truly was. Not that even he was entirely certain what he was. "Ah, right. Miss Serra. She was a sweetheart, if not a bit reckless. Glad to hear she made it through. Hopefully, this new understudy isn't as prone to angering the elements."

A small chuckle left his lips as he recalled that rather tumultuous day. Had they nearly burned down a wing of the school? Well technically yes, but they had it all under control. It was that technically that had gotten them a stern warning from The Foard. Suffice to say that in a world where Erren's allies were quickly dwindling, there were few he could rely on more than Pangloss. Serris would never push the older fellow to endanger his own position, lest he ends up ousted like Erren, but having somebody who still thought of him as he had been was comforting in its own right.

"Don't prod about too much. You know if The Foard finds out you're helping me..." He didn't need to finish his sentence, it spoke well enough for itself. Hieron's aid had been very valuable. Tools and preparations he wouldn't have had access to otherwise had saved his life several times already. It wouldn't be long before the College began to wonder where Erren acquired such supplies, however. Leaning back in his seat and clicking his jaw thoughtfully, he let the familiar musky air of the small room calm his nerves as he spoke. "They're worried that I'm going to find what I'm looking for. Stripping me of my title and sending me on suicide jobs hasn't deterred me the way they'd hoped."


Erren hadn't spoken much of the details surrounding his demotion to anybody, but Hieron knew more than anybody else did. Serris had reason to believe that the cause of the disappearance of his older brother, Leos Serris, was being covered up by the College leadership. Leos had been a prodigy; the first of his class in everything he did. To Erren, Leos was a role model. Everything he wanted to be.

And then one day, he was gone. The College told them he'd died in a tragic accident while practicing a new, volatile form of transmutation. Erren didn't buy it for a second. Where was the body? The ashes, even? Why couldn't anybody give them a definitive time or place for the event?

Once Erren had enough pull to become a Maester and dared to attempt a little digging on the matter, it was the first domino of many that led to his punishment and dishonoring.


"Two days." Erren responded, a disgruntled sound leaving him as he crossed his arms. "I was hoping to spend some time with my son. He loves his caretaker, but it's not the mother and father he deserves. One is dead, and the other is barely allowed to stay home..." Clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, he leans forward, lowering his voice, as if he was worried about even the half-elf assistant hearing from wherever he'd gone.

"I'm not even sure I believe in the thing they want me to find. Reaka's Prism, it's called. I've done research on the thing, but what they claim it can do... all sounds like nonsense. If it isn't, I certainly don't want one man to have control over it."

Hieronymus Pangloss
 
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"Raeka's Prism," he repeated, steepled fingers raised before his lips. The old wizard wore a wistful smile and a nod after he had gone over all the younger mage had shared. "It is not this old magic users first time running screen against higher powers, young Serris" he assured Erren with a solemn nod. "The Foard has bred many a secret dealing across the decades I have resided in these halls a Maester, one mans ambition turned festering wound, shabbily hidden beneath poor disguises," he shook his head. "You need not worry about my well being, Erren," he took out a piece of parchment, uncorked a glass jar full of luminous blue ink.

Long knobby fingers twiddled and twirled and the ink willed itself out of its container, a quick rise and bob of his pointer and mid finger saw the magicked ink move across the page, flowing from left to write, and right to left, fine drops of of the material bled onto the page and words formed line by line.

"I will see your orders delayed by a weeks time at the minimum," he assured. "If we can't see them changed outright," he smirked. "You don't get this old in these halls without having a few friends in high places," he nod to the younger man with a twinkle of mischief in his eye. "I have it on good authority that the Prism was last sited in the Falwood, and an object said to hold similar properties was found amidst the Abbersai, in a settlement " his expression grew more serious. "That was two years ago" he tilt his head with thought, and rest it against his right hand. "Many knew of this, most certainly those within the Foard today," he shift his head and looked at Erren. "If we make it known that the reports are conflicting, could be the one feeding the Foard this information will reveal themselves,"

The magicked ink stopped its work, a whole message scrawled neatly across the sheet of paper. The blob of blue glugged its way back into the bottle it had come from.


"Trust may seem an impossible thing to reach for in this moment, Erren, but trust me in this," Hieron bowed his head before he stood up and snatched up the paper, his eyes quick to look over any issues in the writing. "There is something you should know though," he said as he began to fold the missive. "The Prism..." the old wizard looked out the tall halfround window that let in bright sunlight that refracted through the glass and cast multicolored light out into the room. "It is believed to alter a living being's soul," he let the dire report sink in for a long moment. "The last person to have claimed to find it was spirited away,"

Erren Serris
 
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Erren hadn't come to Hieron with the intent of having him delay his trip; He would never dream of putting his old friend's position in any possible jeopardy for his own sake. Nevertheless, Serris knew from the look in Pangloss's eyes, even before he'd procured that glowing ink and blank parchment that the aged fellow wouldn't allow this to stand without some manner of resistance. Hieronymus was a great many things, and stubborn was certainly high on the list.

"You know that's not necessary. Friends or not..." Erren began to argue with the gesture, but his hand ran up to his face, stroking his beard as he choked it back. Hieron wouldn't be convinced, and Erren knew to try and tell him no would be almost disrespectful, given his position. Instead, he nodded softly as he looked down at the words that he wrote, his voice soft. "Thank you. Please be careful." If anything became of the elder man because of this visit, because he'd tried to help... Serris wasn't sure he'd be able to forgive himself.

The College had told him scant few details about the Prism, save for the fact they believed it to be currently in The Blightlands, and that he was to keep it contained at all times once he found it. So Erren's brow furrowed, his head snapping to attention when Hieron began speaking of Falwood and the Savannah. Neither of those places had been mentioned to him during his briefing on the matter, nor had the nature of its power.

Concerning, but not entirely surprising, if he was being honest.

"From the Savannah to Falwood... that's a hell of a jump. Plus, I doubt the disappearance of the one who claimed to possess it is any coincidence. It seems to suggest that one or more other parties are hunting for it as well." Competition... of course it couldn't ever be easy. Otherwise, they wouldn't send him. What did it matter, when they would be taking the credit for its recovery when he returned anyways? "So then... where do the Blightlands come into play?"

Something wasn't adding up, and suddenly it seemed the extra week would be vital to gather the information he would need to survive this next trip out of Elbion.

Hieronymus Pangloss
 
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Hieron nodded, in agreement with Erren. "It would seem it is hotly contested, could be multiple parties within the Foard vying for its control," he looked down at the piece of parchment folded in his hand, and tucked it into his robes. "I will probe where I can, see what information I might uncover," He stroked the stormy grey hairs of his chin and walked around his wooden desk over to a map of Arethil, a right wonder illustrated and stamped by the Cartographers' Guild of Elbion, that hung proudly upon the wall.

Small glass markers dotted its surface, small runes etched into their surface, one glowed a feint blue, the one placed over Elbion.

"Could be," he said as he studied the map, a wave of his right hand moved one of the crystal markers across the fine vellum surface, it traced across all of Liadan, and most of Epressa, slowly climbed the spine and settled on the off colored Blightlands. "They are trying to through their competitors off the trail," Hieron looked to Erren. "You the decoy, to draw out opposing knives," the old Maester shook his head.

"But there is no way of knowing for sure, not with what little we know now," this truly was a most dangerous game he found himself in. "Well, we have leads to follow, truths to uncover, and like little time to do it." He strode over to the younger mage, and clasped a hand upon his shoulder, gave him a reassuring squeeze. "For today, Erren, spend some time with your boy, I will make the first step, and we can reconvene
on the morrow regarding this business, hmm?"

He strode past the younger man and toward the door. "Now, here is a question of great import, young magus. Listen closely," the old wizard cleared his throat. "When..." he turned and fixed his eyes on the younger man. "Was the last time you had a basket of fried cairou cod with a nice strong Aberrasai Ale?" he smirked.

Nothing wore at the sharpness of ones mind like stress, and a lack of rest. It was something Hieron knew too well. The less human comforts one allowed themselves, the more likely one was to error, even in the most menial of tasks.

"My treat, young man, my treat," he smiled genuinely.


Erren Serris
 
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Dark, tired eyes traveled to follow the shining markers as they slid across the delicate face of the map, a gaze that had once been full of life and vigor now held down by the weight of regrets and the ambitions of others. It wouldn't have shocked him, to learn that the Foard had seen fit to cut the middle man out and simply send him to a guaranteed demise. In his darker moments, alone in his bed under the darkness of night, Erren sometimes wished they would.

There was so little that he had left. His parents and his lover were both long passed now, and his son grew regardless of whether or not he was there to watch it happen. While his situation undoubtedly had some connection to the actions of the Foard and the College, there would always be that invisible insect burrowed into the back of his mind that told Serris the blame lay with himself.

"Zakariah is getting to the age where he's asking questions about where I go. If they so brazenly go after my own life, I do worry for his future..." Erren spoke into his lap, pinching the bridge of his nose as he shook his head. "The entire reason I was ousted was that I wished to know the truth about the fate of my brother. What if he follows the same path?"

Dwelling on it wouldn't prevent it, of course, and it was a fool's errand to try and direct the fate of one's own offspring. Erren knew that all too well, choosing to dispel his own worries with a wave of his hand, his body leaning back in his seat. "No, I shouldn't be saying such things. Thank you, Hieron. Truly. You're the only friend I have left in these trying times, and the effort you put forth to aid me earns you a place among any saint as far as I'm concerned."

The older man had no prerogative to help him aside his own kind heart and their history together. That Serris had such a companion was the smallest sliver of light in a very dark world; a hint that perhaps the Gods didn't loathe him as much as he often felt. "A drink sounds divine. I've quite a story to tell about my last mission, too. I'd be willing to wager you haven't heard of the thing I managed to snatch up in decades, my friend."
 
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To see the sadness in the younger mans eye, and the deep shadow of a looming defeat. It tugged at Hieron's heart. It was not the first time he had seen this institution crush a person's spirit. Let alone the first time he came across tragedy within these halls.

Too many to count.

Yet, seeing Erren stand before the map, as he had stood there so many times before, with little more than dread for what was to come hiding there in the corners of his eyes. That hurt the old Maester. Reminded him of how powerless even one as venerable as he could at times be before the machinations that took place within these walls.

Dispel it, Hieron. Stand strong, for this young man needs you to be greater than your sentimentalities in the here and the now.

"
It is natural for you to worry of your son, Erren, and it is best not to imagine the darkest outcome amidst the paths of fate that branch before you, however probable it might seem," he said somberly. "Besides," he said, a hint of roguish confidence crept into his voice as his lips curled up. "Your expertise is in tipping the odds, is it not?" he did not hide his pride in the younger man. He nod. "They may be stacked against us, but we are not without our chances yet," he assured, and motioned for the door. "Come, let us have drinks, you can tell me of this prize of yours, and I can show you a little known route favored by professors to help avoid the student rush come semesters end," he smirked, and opened the door.

Thalum sat outside the office behind a small desk in the waiting hall, busy behind a stack of papers. When the old door groaned open, the half-elf perked up and looked to the grey-bearded Maester as he emerged.

"Oh, Maester Pangloss!" he busied himself up and out of his seat. "Anything you need of me, ser?"

Hieron's eyes found the young scholar, and he shook his head, his off hand gently pushing away the concern with a gesture. "No no, nothing like that, Thalum, just going to grab a drink with my former student, be sure to let anyone who asks for me know that I am out, and if they press the matter, simply say I am attending personal matters," Of course, with the door to his office cracked,

Hieron knew that what magical wards he had lined his room with were broken, any prying ears could hear him clearly and easily. He trusted Erren understood this too. He was, after all, a former student of Hierons.

Thalum bowed. "Yes, Maester, I will be sure to inform them,"

Hieron nodded. "Good, good," he tutted. "Now, Erren, what sort of drink do you fancy, hmm? I know of a few choice breweries," he said cheerfully as he strode down the hall and towards the secret door to the hidden halls.
 
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Hieronymous was right; there really was no point in worrying himself about the future when the now is what truly needed his attention. What was more, his specialty had always been twisting the odds in his favor. While his probability magic had served him well in some very hairy situations in the past, there was only so much it could do. Still, it was an equalizer.

Keeping that in mind, Erren shut his eyes and shook his thoughts loose. Dwelling on his situation was not a path toward solving it, he knew that very well. "You are correct. I must maintain my focus." A far less forced smile rests upon his lips as he rises from his seat, tilting his body down to grab his case from beside the chair before following him out of the office.

"Does he often have a line of fans waiting at his door, Thalum? He used to be in rather high demand, you know..." Erren snickered from behind the old fellow, recalling how he'd been seen as a rather strapping figure among students in younger years. Serris had seen many a blushing girl fawn over the thought of him during his first few years of study, though what Erren found most amusing is that few if any of them actually took the time to find out whether or not he was actually available or interested.

Nudging Hieron's shoulder with a lingering smirk, he nodded towards the passage and they set off. Most of these hidden routes he had known well at one point, but time and stress had weathered the corners of his mind's pages to leave his recollection rather dog-eared. "After the trip I've just come back from, anything stiff sounds lovely. Just don't take me down to the port, already got in a scuffle there this morning trying to get some breakfast."
 
Thalum smiled at Erren's teasing. "He remains well loved by his pupils, Ser Erren,"

Hieron blinked. "Is that what you call their prattling, Thalum?" he hoot a breathy laugh. "Distractions and sweet words to try and soften the sting," the old Maester smiled at his former student. "But respect must be mutual, given and recieved," he gave a prompt nod. "Flatteries and flirtations are too oft empty, and substanceless," he stroked his white beard. Blinked, and made a sound of alertness. "Oh, well, forgive me," he smirked. "It seems their prattling is contagious,"

Thalum sighed softly. "Your off to get a drink, Maester?"

"
Thalum, please, you know you may address me by my given name,"

"Hieron, then," the assistant smile strained some.

Hieron nod.
"Yes, good, off we go then," Hieron set off and lead Erren down the passages. Through the door hidden behind a fine fresco, the image of a mind in blue aura, with white radial rays beaming out from its perimeter, as if it were the sun itself. It always struck Hieron as a little too... well, overly grandiose. But, he supposed there were worse things to paint on a wall than the mind.

They passed into the tunnels, and Hieron looked to Erren, his eyes at the corners of his vision just in time to catch the flicker of a shadow behind them. His smile spread wide. "Might be we have others joining us for the drink, Erren," the old man's grey brows bounced, as his eyes flicked back to him, then forward toward the dark path ahead. "Never worry though," Hieron's fingers went down to his sash, and to the pack that was tied there upon.

A hollow thoonk sound, cork come free of glass, and a glob of beetle-shell-blue wisped up, divided itself into three equal measures and spread wide about the two mages who paced down the halls.

"A dissipation field," he said with a hint of pride. "You remember their function, yes?" Hieron's eye twinkled with an impish humor as he strode on, boot falls even and measured. The globs of silver-blue ink orbit around them, before their ink turned translucent to the naked eye. "Won't do us much good within earshot, or against the naked eye," he nod forward, "not without catching more suspicion than usual,"

Dissipation fields were common practice within the halls. In an institution where innovation and experimental breakthroughs were the quickest way to advance ones path, a bit of secrecy was accepted. Hide too deeply however, and folks would know you had something worth hiding.

So, for now, a minor field to cloak their talk. Enough to give him time to
feel a veil breaker's intrusion.
 
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"I think you may be too informal for Thalum's taste. The fellow seems the professional type." It wasn't an observation made out of malice, but not everybody enjoyed being so impersonal with their superiors. Erren had felt just a little bit of apprehension in the assistant's tone near the end of that exchange. Such things mattered little to him when the cerulean beams and white light mixed into his vision as they passed through into the winding tunnels. It had been long since he'd been permitted into these depths. "These halls haven't changed at all, even while it feels like the world outside them has gone to hell."

Serris too felt the presence of others in these vein-like pathways through the belly of the College. Though he didn't care much about being eavesdropped on himself, the words he spoke could have incriminated his friend, and that simply wouldn't do. Erren was about to propose a dissipation field himself before Hieron set about making one himself. The former Maester had once been an avid user of the technique, but he no longer had the correct materials for such things.

"Of course. It's how I kept you from being clued in that year we cast slickening magic on your floors. Sorry about that glassware, by the way." Erren never claimed he was a perfect student, did he? While the allure of drink did ease his mind, he still couldn't help but feel vulnerable in these hallways. The sooner he left them and found the bottom of a bottle, the better for his own sanity. "Now I will warn you, I'm supposed to turn this little find of mine into the Foard posthaste, so I'm not really supposed to be showing it to you. Not before it's gone through the red tape."

They turned a corner and a smile grew on his face, imagining the reaction he'd earn from the man when he learned what Serris had brought him today. "You do so love paradoxes and examples of the impossible being possible, after all."
 
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Hieron chuckled softly behind his whiskers and beard. "Yes, don't I remember," the old magus thought aloud. "Gave that rapscallion Seymour quite a good scare when he caught the slick," Hieron could still see the look on the young man's face. "Shame about the vials though," he tut his tongue. "Kaliti crystal glass, if memory serves me," he folded his hands behind his back. "And enchanted inks, as we were practicing negation spheres," his mind wandered to the memory. Remembered the roguish smirk worn on Erren's face when Seymour had eaten the proverbial shit, and how he, being the Professor in workshop, had to keep himself from laughing at the powerful son of a merchant prince.

"You are right about Thalum," he said absent mindedly. As if the thought had bubbled up from the depths of his mind. "A bit of formality keeps them comfortable," he smiled. "But sometimes, you must make people a bit uncomfortable, Erren, to better understand them," but when Erren spoke of his find, he hummed curiously, his eyes peering from their corners to spy what he spoke of.


"Well," he said with an eager smile bubbling up beneath his lips. "What wizard worth his casting salts doesn't love a good anomaly?" he asked as they strode down the final hallway before the exterior courtyard. "While curiosity kills many a cat, it keeps the mind young," his eyes glint with anticipation.
 
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Erren could scant fight back a snicker at Heiron's methods of understanding people. Not that it was entirely inaccurate, but by modern standards, it would probably be considered rather invasive and insensitive. "That's your roundabout way of saying you enjoy finding what makes people tick. You've always been that way." He almost felt bad for Thalum; Heiron was almost as fond of social experimentation as he was practical. It wasn't a job Erren would be in a hurry to fill, nothing against his old friend.

"It was simpler. I wish I could go back to the times when some shattered Kaliti glass was my biggest issue. I suppose I was naive to think my snooping would warrant me that kind of peace." Serris had a habit of blaming himself, but his own carelessness was indeed partly to blame for what had happened. There could be no disputing that without some measure of sugarcoating the truth. It was that lingering guilt that irked him so incessantly.

Thankfully, he had this current fascination to pull his mind away from such dark clouds lingering in his head, instead tapping the case he carried in his hand as they exited into the courtyard, making sure that they were out of earshot even with the privacy spell in place before he chose his next words, tongue darting over his lower lip, lids lowering as if closing his eyes would bring his voice lower. Like a child telling a secret to a friend.

"An unbound Allita."

Allita; a form of familiar only capable of being summoned through the black magic of pure hatred. It was an old magic, too. You wouldn't find it in an academy textbook, at least not one that had been written since the common language was adopted. Not only did the caster need immense skill at conjuration, but they must loathe a target with such burning passion that a familiar with the sole purpose of killing said target can be born through the force of that emotion.

"Do you remember how they work? The familiar acts only to kill its target, ignoring all else. When that happens, the Allita dies along with the target." It wasn't often you even heard of the dated spell, let alone saw one with your own eyes. What Erren claimed to have was certainly anomalous indeed. "The familiar in this case... It's an Allita, but somehow has no target. It does not attempt to kill at all, rather docile actually. But how?"

The question was genuine. Erren hadn't gotten that far.
 
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Hieron let his former student's word sink in. "Yes," he said with a the long dry croak of one lost in reminisince. "I suppose that is true, understanding through experimentation," he smiled, unashamed as his eye twinkled. "A flaw, as much as it is what makes me who I am, young Serris, as is your curiosity, and sense of justice, do not give in to your despair and self doubt," he comforted the man best he could, and nothing of his tone gave hint to lie. Why would he?

Erren had Hieron's trust, and trust was built. Earned. A thing that marked those who could carry weight for you, and pull you up when things turned most foul.

It helped of course, that Erren was as capable as he as trust worthy.


"No," Hieron said with baited breath, his eyes going wide, but he remembered himself. Cleared his throat, and squeezed his gaze tight as he scanned the hall around them. Safe, for now. His eyes looked down at the space between them, as if the thing would have spawned right then and there.

"Well," he began in hushed tone. "A misfire or failure to conjure such an ancient thing is not unheard of, as the archives can attest to just how many scholar and Maester have lost their lives playing with the darker arts," Hieron could not help but stroke his grey-white beard as his brow scrunched some. "Misswoven spells most oft fizzle out," he caught himself. Erren was no laymen. "Dissipate, the energies unable to result in anything worth while. On some occasion, with more frequency among the untrained, the failure is critical, the energies gathered too potent, and a blowback occurs," he brought his eyes up to regard Erren. "In spells so single mindedly heinous as an Allita... most oft the spell caster is slain and the contract of hate is fulfilled. It could be..." he looked down again, as if his gaze had been weighed down by thought. "It could be the final clause of the Loathsome Oath was not established. Or some outside force severed the bond betwixt the familiar, and its conjurer,"

Hieron blinked, and realized how much he had been talking, looked up at Erren with a surprised look in his eye.
"Forgive me, I seem to have rambled on," he cleared his throat and nod before checking their surroundings once more. "Do you have it in your possession?"

What could the Foard want with such a dubious thing, the Maester could not help but wonder.
 
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Erren knew of the basis of an Allita, but Heironymous was far more knowledgeable about older, more complicated magics. It was why he entrusted this knowledge to Pangloss and none else. In the grand scheme of things, especially with this Prism causing a ruckus, it wasn't nearly so important. Even so, Serris couldn't help but feel as though there was something about his discovery that was more than met the eye.

His won predilections aside, Erren could only listen in wonderment to Heiron's thoughts on the matter. Blowback or interruption was something he'd considered, but at a point so precise that it altered the spell entirely? Erren couldn't fathom it. And yet, he couldn't reasonably deny the possibility either. The apology he muttered after words was only greeted with an admiring smirk on the face of the younger man. "No reason to apologize. If anything, I should be thankful for the free lecture."

Soon enough they'd reached the place that the Maester sought to take them, and by that point the lure of something sweet against the back of his throat was growing more powerful. The sooner he could dull his mind, the sooner he could forget the unsettling truth lying beneath both topics they'd discussed today. "I do have it, actually. I have the whole time we've been talking." Something he'd conveniently forgot to mention. Or more likely withheld to spring on his old friend, judging from the smirk on his face as they took their seats. "For something born of hate in order to kill, it's actually quite friendly, funnily enough."

Something on Erren's person moved. Subtle, almost like a ribbon that had been tied around his neck had come loose, and began to fall from his clothing. It was no scrap of cloth though; this long cobalt strip had a head, and to beady eyes that looked up at Pangloss as though awaiting his approval.
 
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"Smooth talker," Hieron teased his former student. "A skill that can't be taught," he laughed as they moved on. "Not with any true degree of pleasantness, at least," he sounded certain of his words. "But, let us away, and I can prattle on all the more with my whiskers whiskey wet,"

It was as they were drinking, that Hieron thought of the words he had uttered previously. The words they had shared between them. The brave face Erren put on despite all that plagued his mind. The constant demands of the Maesters and the Foard. The hunting for things far beyond.

The younger wizard spoke, and it pulled Hieron out from the stormclouds of his thoughts, and back to the world of chatter and laughter and clink clank around them. "You do?" he asked as he nursed his cup of whiskey. As much as he detested the Anirians and their tendrils of expansion, they had fine spirits. Maybe there was a title for a book in that. Wait. His eyes widened, and he stared at the young man with some shock.


"You do," he grinned. "Sly fox, you've gotten much better with your concealing arts," or maybe he had gotten too comfortable. He smiled wistfully, and took a drink. Then saw the thing shimmer and slip from his neck. Like a serpent uncoiling, it spilled onto the table and rose up. Its obsidian eyes staring large at the old Maester who could not help but gawk.

"Friendly," he said with a quiver to his voice. Excitement and the fear of something new all mixed into the tremble of his voice. "You've, traveled long with it?" he closed his eyes, as was a common sign amongst things that felt and dealt with threat, and gingerly offered a curled finger to the creature. "By the stars, what could the Foard want with such a... placid thing?" dissect it most like. Open it up and see what made it tick. And how it could be applied.

Much coin was to be made if a thing like this could be recreated, simplified and produced without such heavy cost as its original inception. The thought made Hieron's heart tremble. But his mind, curious as it was, could not help but ask so many of the same questions.
 
The deep blue serpent flicked its tongue against the knuckle of Hieron's offered finger, a soft hiss leaving its mouth as it slid its tail along the table, curling around the base of Erren's glass as if to anchor itself to something. Erren reached out and slowly ran a finger down the length of the reptile, a soft smile resting on his face all the while.

"I wouldn't say it's been exceptionally long, but I have gotten to know it. It's almost like an ordinary snake, safe the fact it's docile as a kitten." It had been on official business that he'd come across the thing, so while the College knew it existed, he hadn't shared that he'd successfully collected it with them just yet. "But it's definitely a summoned creature; it reeks of magic, and the only species of snake I could find record of with this color of skin has been extinct for at least a decade, hunted by dwarf and gnoll tribes for their radiant scales."

Serris hadn't quite decided what he would do with the thing yet. Even to the College, it would provide little but distraction. Still, Erren found an innate beauty in its existence; something meant to hate, meant to pursue violence at any cost living peacefully, defying its purpose. Perhaps it gave him some semblance of hope that one day he too could escape such chains...

"I have an idea, Hieron."

It was, to say the least, a bold idea. He'd come to him because Hieron held his trust above all others, but while Hieron could perhaps delay Erren's scheduled trip to the Blightlands, the likelihood of him convincing the Foard to cancel it altogether was minimum. Eventually, Erren would have to leave, and they needed to be ready by that point.

"I've heard rumor about campus that Veliata Eründalis is due for a rare visit to her office soon. I know she's a high ranking Maester, more tenured than even yourself. Still... her reputation is that of a woman who does as she pleases. I plan to appeal to her, ask her to aid us in our attempts to keep this Prism from the wrong hands."

As Erren spoke, the serpent turned its head to stare back at the black-haired mage, slithering itself around to his hand, sliding up his arm and resting with its long coiled around it. Perhaps Serris hadn't realized it through his stress, but the abnormal Allita had grown to bond with him as well.
 
Hieron's old eyes stared at the creature with no small measure of wonder. The way its scales shimmered so beautifully against the light that poured in through the tall windows. "Yes, it certainly does, reek of magic," the old maester agreed. Still watching the way the serpentine summon just, snaked about.

Eren's words caught his attention, brought the old wizard's eyes up to meet the younger man's. "Let's hear it then," he said with some mischief in his eye.

He took a drink from his cup in anticipation, and listened.

At the mention of Maester Eründalis, Hieron quirked a brow. "Veliata, eh?" the corner of his lip quirked, and his whiskers bobbed some. There was a hint of amusement there in his eye. A glint, across the stormy blue surface of his gaze as his right hand stroked at the long trails of his beard.


"A fine gambit," he said with a nod, and took another drink. When the stein came from his lips, he motioned with it toward the serpent. "I think," he said slyly. "We should do what we can to keep this little curiosity of yours, out of the Foard's hands, hmm?" he grinned. "Maybe, see to it that their holding seals suffer a terrible malfunction, and whatever was held in side," he stamped the bottom of his cup against the table with a clack. "Is lost without a trace?"

He nod, and curled the ends of his mustache. He was just the mage to know how to pull such a thing.
 
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Erren smiled behind the confines of his own stein, the foam of his ale tickling at his lips as he recognized that look in Pangloss' eyes. It might have been difficult for anybody else to notice it, but Erren had seen it before, many times. Wise and tenured was the old man, but unlike so many who devote their lives to academia, Hieronymus had never lost that youthful sense of spontaneity and mischief that led him act out where others would not.

"Once again, the two of us seem to be operating on the same level. I would, at the very least, like to find out who it originally was meant to target. Allitas are incredibly difficult to summon, so for one to persist this long... I can't deny a level of curiosity that borders on meddling."

The small buttered bread roll Erren ordered was placed before him, and he scooped it up in one hand to take a small bite of it, closing his eyes as he mulled over the myriad of oddities that seemed to present themselves to him as of late. First The Prism, then the Allita. Obviously, the Prism was the more dire, the most pressing. Still, he couldn't shake the hunch that perhaps the two were connected.

Of course, he had no evidence to support such a theory, and his hunches had been wrong in the past. It was more the timing that struck him as odd than anything else.

"Assuming Veliata is willing to help us, we should have a much easier time of narrowing down the location of the Prism, and I daresay she'd be able to provide me some insight on what limited notes on the thing I have been able to collect."

Erren lays a sheet of parchment, ripped out of a notebook on the table between the two of them. It was written in elven, but even an elf would tell you it was mostly gibberish. However, the diagrams scribbled on the back were clearly of what appeared to be a prism.

"This was found outside of what remained of a burnt-down house just outside Fal'Addas. Perhaps somebody living there studied it at one point. I've had no luck deciphering anything though, it could be the ravings of a lunatic just the same."
 
Hieron listened on to Erren's plan, lips curled in a please smile.

He had always appreciated the younger man's easy going nature. But it was his cunning that had earned the older wizard's respect.

"
Yes, well put," he added. "Disocvering who would want such a loathsome..." the beautiful blue serpent creature coiled some, its elegant body moving across Erren with ease. Hieron cleared his throat. "Excuse me, originally loathsome thing may lead us to other important pieces of knowledge," his finger tapped idly upon the walls of the tankard.

A platter of fried chips and strips of golden crispy fish were placed before them. The smell of the hot glistening oil and perfectly cooked fish filled the space between them, and the portion was healthy. "Please," Hieron said easily, and motioned toward his food with his right hand. "Help yourself," he snatched up a chip, blew on it, and muched it down fast.

"Veliata is known for her cunning and peerless planning," he agreed. "No doubt she has some dirt on this matter," he took up a piece of hot fish, dipped it in the cool white sauce with pickle chunks. Popped it into his mouth and chewed.

There was just something about sharing food that helped ease the mind.

Hieron's eyes went big as he looked down at the diagram. He passed down the bite of food and went on listening. "Could be," he agreed, wiping his fingers clean, "May I, Erren?" he asked, and with clean fingers, moved the diagram a bit closer, his eyes scrawled across the elvish and the details of the diagram, his mind scouring all the years his experience and study could muster.

"My," he said as he looked on. Pupils darting here and there as they tried to decipher the script and the scrawl. The random bits of seeming nonsense. Fractured. Re-fracting. Captured. Stored. Changed. "It is a device," his finger glided out, and pressed down on a series of elvish scripture. "Soul," moved to the next. "Energy," then to the next. "This word, shattered," he shook his head, moved his finger to where it repeated across the prism. Seemed to bounce. And like so many of life's details, once you saw it, it was hard to not see.

It repeated, over and over and over across the diagram. As if a thing of precious glass had been shattered across the traces of fine ink. It seemed to spiral. Swirl to some pull.

"I cannot decipher it all now," he said with a scrunched brow. "But, if you would allow me to make a copy?" he said with a hushed tone, closed his eyes and let it all process in his mind. "We can study it in greater depth, maybe even turn in this... diagram, altered of course," he smirked and his eyes came open to look to the younger man. "We could give it to the Foard as proof of our need for an extension," his eye twinkled with impish malice.

Erren Serris
 
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"Soul, Energy, Shattered..."

All of the words that his wise friend had been able to decipher only seemed to confirm the rumors about the Prism's nature, but even with this corroboration Erren felt as though something was missing from the whole equation. If only he'd spent more time on his own elven, perhaps he could better help to understand the strange message presenting itself on the parchment.

Erren bit at the offered food without paying much mind to it, the serpent flicking its tongue curiously in the direction of the steaming meal from the safety of its chosen carrier for the time being. "It brings me an odd sense of dread, that picture. I've a terrible feeling about that Prism, and an even stronger one that nobody, Foard or otherwise, should be tampering with such theories." But somebody had; That was the only explanation for the parchment between them.

Who knew if the result of such horrid experimentation walked amongst them now? The thought brought a shiver to the spine every time he reread the one or two words he could recognize. Ultimately, he nodded in agreement with Hieron's desires to provide the Foard with an altered copy, though not before taking another swig of courage...

They'd all but made him into an indentured servant the last time he'd irked them. If they learned of this treachery...

No, he shook his head and set his mug back on the table, dispelling the unpleasant thought from his head. "I dislike the idea of giving them anything at all, but you're right. We may have to make a small measure of compromise here. Do as you wish with it, I shall provide a more accurate copy to Veliata when she arrives." The serpent tucks his head beneath Erren's chin wrapping around his neck as he had been when they'd entered. "As for our friend, I think I'll hold on to him for now. I have some theories of my own, and I'd like the chance to put them to work before we must part ways.
 
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"Agreed, young Serris," Hieron said with a nod. "It is a most treacherous thing, that much seems certain,"

He need not say what he thought, for he felt it in the air between them. This object. The Prism. It was but the first hint at something more. Something sinister hiding in the abyss that was ignorance. For it need not their understanding, nor their awareness, to continue to turn and grow. whatever it may be.

Erren drank, and not one to reject wisdom when found, Hieron did the same. Finished his cup, and laid it down. "Good, with a proper screen in place, we will not rouse any suspicion, beyond the usual, and even should it be discovered that it is a forgery," and he smiled cat like at that, a twinkle in his eye, And that's a big if. "They will have no proof that it was our hands that made it," a twirl of his proud white whiskers as he thought on the odds. Another layer of chance heavily steeped in their favor. At least in this ploy.

Hieron grabbed up the schematic, and rolled it neatly. Procured a fine obsidian cylinder, no larger than a finger from a fold in his robes, pressed to sides of it and spread fore finger and thumb wide. The cylinder grew large. His hands worked the top, and it came open, revealing a chamber large enough to house the schematics. He slipped the worn parchment in, sealed the cylinder, and brought his forefinger and thumb together again. The cylinder shrunk back down, and he pocketed it away.

"Oh?" he sounded at the mention of plans, and with the horrid schematic put away, he felt his innards unwind. His hunger return some. He grabbed up a golden fried chip, and dipped it in the cool sauce. Popped it into his mouth with a crisp.

"And, pray tell, what are these theories?" he smiled, and his eye was full of curiosity.
 
Erren would only offer a coy smile at the question, raising an arm to his neck where the serpent rested and allowing the cerulean reptile to slither up his sleeve. There was a great amount of trust between he and Professor Pangloss, but there were some things Erren didn't wish to speak on with even him.

"You'll have to forgive me, Hieron. I don't wish to speak more on my thoughts until I have something to substantiate them. They aren't hypotheses to be made lightly." If ever he found reason to believe the strange familiar was truly tied to The Prism, Hieronymus would be the first he told.

Still, it was clear he'd brought Pangloss to the edge of his seat again. It made Serris feel remiss to let him down, so rare was it for men of his age to still have such a burning thirst for knowledge and ravenous curiosity. Sipping his drink, Erren closed his eyes and made a concession.

"Think about it. What could be done to a person to confuse a familiar bent on his or her demise? Certainly, there are many scenarios we haven't had reason to consider. But with the possibility of magic in the same vein as this Prism out there... it opens up a few new avenues of thought, does it not?"

Granted, few of these avenues would be pleasant. Few ever encountered magic as dark as a hate-fueled familiar, let alone one that had seemingly never faded with the death of its target or with time. Time always faded a spell, unless reinforced periodically; Such were the laws of magic. So either somebody was working to keep this serpent summon alive, which suggested a continuing stream of hatred, or it had been cast at least somewhat recently. Either way suggested a mystery ripe for unraveling.
 
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