Private Tales Pack of Magi

[Sam Fairbridge]

Arcane luggage has a way of drawing attention.

A veritable wealth of arcane tools, implements, power sources and scribed details of arcane matters sequestered in highly regimented fashion within the compartments of the cumbersome backpack, hefted without strain or complaint by one Sam Fairbridge, stolen from him with a two fold mugging. A flash of magic that had made Sam's vision turn to white and all sensation become numbed, claws hooking under straps, wings to fly away with heavy momentum.

Upon senses returning, time languid to Sam during the distancing of their perceptions, they turned about themselves, eyes wide as they ever had been, wide white discs upon a curtain of black. Eyes to the skies, desperately seeking.

A flock of white birds made manoeuvres to avoid the heavy beating of whatever beast did lumber Sam's wares through the sky, remaining silent for fear of being devoured, skulking away. It bobbed as if it were barely able to maintain it's flight for virtue of it's prize.

Sam's gloved hands went to a fold of his turquoise robe. An ornate tube of brass, inscribed with script of elven, set with perfect glass and snapped to proper length and set to Sam's right eye. The other sealed itself, the black curtain of the sentient unseen servant's corpereal influence taking over it's façade of nothingness.

Gloved hands guided clumsy to the flying thief, shock mingling with rising dread with what this all meant.

Thoughts interjected staccato, as if knuckles rapping upon the door of obligations. How irreplaceable a great deal of the wares were, how plans were laid out countless to exploring the world using the implements, books worth more to him than anyone, scrolls that in the wrong hands-

The looking glass magnified the rider of the winged creature, large and terrible for a trembling moment. A figure of flowing robes, sky blue, a staff of barbed vines, rushed away into open sky as it lumbered and Sam struggled with tracking and their thoughts.

Sam was beset by a sudden rush of emotion unfamiliar and scarcely understood. Ordinarily calm and serene, timeless and patient, Sam was no stranger to the hints of emotional flavour that sentience that provided. But in this moment, as Sam did peer at the robed one again, the one that had deprived Sam of their livelihood, their past, their tools of trade and their heritage, Sam felt a rushing emotion that consumed him, set that black curtain to platinum brilliance as indignatation and loss surged.

To Sam, the robed one upon this vast flying beast seemed to be mocking them as they turned to behold the beholder. Smugness in their humanoid face. Victory in their gait.

From within Sam was an emotional outburst emerging through arcane command at the sight, trails of certain destructive energies trailing in arcane geometric grounding, golden light turning to scorching blue as the mage peered through telescope, arcane wit tensing where muscles should be, channelling power never before needed or demanded before.

How dare you!

The thought galvanised the spell as the geometric inscriptions into the savannah ground did alight with arcane ignitation. Lightning convulsed about the pattern, and Sam did thrust out a palm as their bright white eye followed the target.

Sniping at such impressive distance was for cooler minds and for more well practiced hands. The power, while blinding beacon of Sam's outrage, emerging as wild lightning that coursed erratic and unnatural through the sky, lashed as wildly as it had appeared to Sam. Through telescope it was directed, and such practice was dimly received by such overcharged and overextended magic. The telescope glass cracked, the elven script slipped from it's moorings, and Sam limply lowered it, hands now completely unburdened of the electricity they had commanded.

The lightning did creep and cascade, eventually falling to the ground, defeated, short of the thief. Much power was in the strike, and perhaps it could have reached such impressive distance had numerous circumstances not fallen astray.

The sound thundered through the plain, a crackle and boom of the lightning scorching where it had landed as a full stop to the ground to this protestation. A small fire did burn in the dry grasslands, tinder abound muchly in these parts.

The black curtain returned it's dominion, the geometic font of power faded, and Sam shuddered as their emotions, now expressed, became bitter and spent.

Their shoulders heaved as the winged one faded from view.

The telescope was sequestered by instinct, as if it complete the consignment of defeat.

The smoke began to rise. And responsibilities to that came sharply into focus, even as realisations lumbered themselves to Sam's perspective.

Best fix that.

I don't mean to cause disaster.

But...

Sam shrugged their shoulders as if hoisting up the pack out of habit and looked solemn in the bright eyes that turned down at the lack of everything on their person.

A disaster has happened to me.

Sam's robed figure made hurried movement to the scorched earth that was slowly gaining traction in the blaze that sparked to life in the brush, movement calm in gait, hands unsure what to do themselves, speed unusual to them. That familiar weight now gone was a new awful world Sam hoped against all hopes that wouldn't have to be accepted.

Aeyliea

 

[Aeyliea]

A crack of thunder from a clear blue sky smote the Savannah, sending birds skyward and lumbering beasts bolting.

In her misery, the Seer had felt it coming before it had shaken the world. Tasted the sour tang of magic long before the bolt split the heavens.

The grassland native sat astride her horse bolt upright, head snapped to the direction of the sorcery. The dun mare blended well with its riders; bronze skin and clothes in colors that blended with the environment in greys, greens, and browns were only somewhat less effective for the brilliant white hair that rolled down her back in a thick braid. Feathers fluttered and beds and bones clicked as the wind played with it, carried the scent of smoke.

Prairie fire. Great. Just what she needed to deal with today. As if being sent out to chase down some winged villain wasn't enough.

As if being asked to do so without any direction as to why or what it was the Traveller wanted.

She leaned forward and whispered gently into Ella's pricked ears. The mare stamped a hoof, turned, and headed in the direction of the source of the magic. There was no need to rush, at least. Her hand dropped to the hollow scabbard attached to her saddle in which she carried three of her spears. The unstrung bow across the saddle horn remained ignored. The twisted, ugly scar that was her left arm made it impossible to use such things anymore.

Finding a powerful sorcerer like this shouldn't be difficult. She just wasn't sure what she was going to do when she found them. All she knew for absolute certain was that they were not No'rei. Her people did not use magic like that.

Hadn't really suffered for the lack of it, either, in their inhospitable home. Outsiders were not welcome bu then again, neither was she. The whisper of heresy rang in her head, and the others of her kith and kin could hear it too.

One day, she would go and tell them. Today, it was enough to go and find this avian fiend and before that, the one that set the field aflame.

 

[Sam Fairbridge]

Haste was something new to Sam. Speed did not follow their efforts. Clumsy was the heavy boots that trod through the dry grasslands, clambering unsurely. Everything before this thievery had been so well considered. Pondered and well placed. And now, eyes down cast for the most part as Sam navigated their unfamiliar speed. It was all a dizzying rush of rising and upstaged emotion and sensation.

The flying mage and beast that hefted was firmly gone from the skies, perhaps perceptible to those with incredible eyes or tools to guide their vision. The smoke rose with hints of heating mirage, black foulness soon developing in the infant fire turning adolescent.

Sam was but fifty feet away when Sam realised the extent of the problem developing. Flames were spreading, gaining further fervour from the dryness of the vegetation and the climate, and the intense spark that Sam had willed from themselves out.

No sense of panic or shame within the opaque curtain of Sam's nature.

Compunction to the craft, responsibility to what they had just done.

Sam wondered as they slowed their approach and placed palms upon their sleeves. As magics of instruction coursed and eyes blinkered, Sam did wonder. Wondered if their former master, Balestro Fairbridge, would have put out the arcane combustion of soul wrenching energies that had caused Sam's own creation had they been given opportunity to act.

Instead of being consumed by that shimmering fire, spent for fuel for the accident of Sam's own awareness taking manifest through happenstance of formula and fatal serendipity.

Gloved hands shimmered as the robe was attuned to the task at hand. A simple elemental ward buffered itself, flames to avail against, robes to protect, soul shrouded by arcane vestments that protected one another. There was a respect to the gear, a reassuring holding of the fabric as if to say, "I won't let you burn."

Protected from rising orange flames, senses unfeeling of heat but aware of pressures of air that shifted from the flames, Sam did find themselves lacking the adrenaline that might expediate decisions of more flesh directed beings. Observing for long moments the flames as catalogues of spells were filtered. It wasn't a simple matter of retrieving something from the backpack. This was an entirely unfamiliar method of problem solving on the surface beyond the tower that had been their home.

The flames grew, much snapping and scorching, blacking smoke as teenage rebellion of the fire became wilder and more confident. Emboldened by the delay Sam indulged in, the heat rose, as did the rich orange of fire.

Sam strode humbly forward. As if they were approaching sheepish inside a bookstore, fearful of creating noise when a parade was outside the window.

The robes began to frost in response to the approach, boots planted as the growing perimeter was trod upon, boots as if blocks of stone, the turquoise a patch work of growing snows and frosts to aid the hesitating aspirant firefighter rising in place of welting and scorching.

Sam became a shimmer with fierce availing platinum sheen as what arcane reflexes within them and the robe alike fired out, extreme cold rising in place where fear would direct further distance. Their robes were now flush with the pearlescent hue as gloved hands grasped the arcane wit to expel further colds in pulses from themselves to bid to smother what flames approached, the spellcraft and application new to them.

Fascinating, Sam did think, as temperatures argued for dominance before them.

The fire crept beyond Sam's presence, academic application of arcane theories and surges of energies keeping their interest more now than the thought to imperative to stop the blaze. The rushes of frost were almost playful, lazy and lacked the impetus of self preservation someone who might be burned alive should they fail would normally possess.

Sam's boots, firmly planted, began to singe.

Aeyliea

 

[Aeyliea]

The beacon burned nearly as brightly as the grass. Small animals scurried and darted the other direction as the flames spread wider. Faster.

Hotter.

The Seer could feel the heat of the flames even so far away. She had come to the top of one of the many low draws that striated the plains and found the wildfire spreading across an adjacent hilltop. It was half a mile away, and spreading fast, driven by winds out of the south and west. Ash and embers swirled skyward, and half a dozen lesser fires were already popping up ahead of the fire line.

She heeled the mare to a halt and observed. The flames held no special fear for her; they were a piece of the cycle of life out here in the wild lands. As inevitable as the terrible storms in spring and the frigid winds of winter. They might be slightly out of season, but in the greater scheme it did not matter.

What did was the ball of arcane energy swirling amidst the fast-moving flames.

They stood in among the flames as though unconcerned by them. The native's eyes narrowed at the sight. This, then, was the likely source of the out-of-season fire, then. The one currently spreading out ahead of the shimmering and indistinct shape of the sorcerer.

Well, first thing. She closed her eyes, wind tugging hard at the braid on her back, and called to Lochin. The wildfires were his gift, after all.

She called, but there was no answer. Where the fiery regard would have burned her to ashes, there was nothing but a cold void. Well...

Not quite nothing.

Scales like moonlight gleamed in her head. Empty sockets bored into her like augurs. Rank amusement seeped down a bond that she had not asked for and did not want. The Mother - supposedly - looked into her head and out through her eyes.

There was no need for supplication. The wyrm already knew her desire, meager though it was. Your offering, child?

The words were like the slamming shut of tombs. Coffin lids. A chill that battled with the raging inferno swept through her from head to toe, raising gooseflesh. Before her, spread across a mile now and widening, the fire raged.

She lifted the skull on her forehead free and held it wordlessly. After a moment, it crumbled to ashes and swirled away on the southerly wind. Something like a sigh soughed through her head, a feeling of pleasure washing behind it. Unbidden, she made a warding gesture with her twisted left hand (or tried to at least).

Acceptable.

The breathy whisper stirred her hair, and the wind shifted due west, turning the wildfire and its choking smoke. The tang of eldritch magic - not hers - soured the air. Shaking off the superstitious dread, she booted her horse back into a canter, and headed toward the shape amid the flames, hand caressing the haft of one of her spears.

 

[Sam Fairbridge]

Where Sam stood, a contest was one sided held. Between the fire that grew and the frost that protected Sam, the flames firmly winning their independence beyond Sam's present influence. Encroaching on the safety of Sam. Every direction had fierce boldness of the flames from Sam's blackening boots, each wave of frost was barely adaquate. The robes shifting in mottled whites and turquoise as flames were denied their reach complete.

In this moment, with the flames availing and growing confidence, Sam heard a voice lash internal, shuddering into existence with an echoing bellow to Sam's soul to do something now.

"Enact Utmost Lab Fire Protocols you USELESS thing!"

Sam's word spoke aloud of recognition and surprise - "Master Balestro?"

No conversation was to be had.

The point had been made. The ramifications of the direct order held sway.

Sam gained a structure in which to act within. A rigid movement to the hands and fingers as ejection of frost was discarded in favour for regular protocols, the protocols that had been enacted without success to save Master Balestro at his final moment.

Sam's eyes turned pale grey as regimented instruction was rigidly enforced, Sam's hands moving as if they were but a marionette.

A smothering effect in the conjurating hands.

Hands spread out as an encapsulating dome was willed impressive and dominating to the fires domain, and then a great annihilation of the very air from outward to within in a great sundering of arcane might. A void had been created, the oxygen within the air obliterated. The heat lingered, ready to take advantage of any air that might be afforded to it.

Yet the dome sealed the fire. Blackened and scorched, heat contained in the airless dome that could be perceived by virtue of shadowy movements around the area.

Those blackened boots turned about the spot, looking for flaw in the application. The smoke beyond where the air had been annihilated trailed, cut off from the source, lingering in the western wind that could not enter the dome's domain.

Sam's domain of airless control.

Yet the ground still retained the heat.

But Sam was patient.

Eyes flickered white back, as if a lever was being turned, permissions granted.

"Master Balestro?" Sam spoke, their voice a thing uttered arcanely instead of movement of air, as wits and control returned to them, shocked for the second time by sudden emergence of new emotional experience.

The flames were no more. Blackened boots and blackened heated soil and vegetation sign that there had been a fire at all.

An approaching rider. Another thief? Or perhaps someone else?

Sam sent a magical arcane shout that would be audible beyond the dome in the rider's direction. Some hold over of the regimented structure that had been in affect still lingered within the diction. Sam's words, spoken as official decree and authority, spoken instinctually.

"Utmost Lab Fire Protocols in Effect. Stand clear. This area is highly dangerous and hazardous to breathing entities. Introduction of air will restart the fire. Stand clear. Stand clear."

Aeyliea

 

[Aeyliea]

She was not prepared for a display such as this. In fact, she did not think it was possible to conjure magic of such strength so casually.

From one breath to the next, the flames were simply gone. Everything else within the sphere of magic perished right along with the flames, so that birds fell from the air and small animals that had been fleeing one (terrible) death succumbed to a different one that they could not flee from.

The whisper of power coming from Lorien wavered, and then extinguished itself; the wind switched direction again. Except within the bubble of null that the sorcerer had erected. There, it skirled round the edges without crossing them.

The booming voice had her reaching instinctively for her weapon and sitting the saddle straight and true. Her aching arm didn't appreciate the motion much. She had lived on these plains for a long time, though. The weak and the slow did not make it very far among the tribes.

Even if she was cast out - am I? - she was still No'rei.

She could feel the power thrumming in the air, see the heat-shimmer of magic and halted at the edge of the effect. Silent as death and focused like a stooping falcon on the indistinct shape a half mile away. Unreachable according to the threat leveled at an inhuman volume.

Her skin itched. If it turned that power on her, she was likely dead. She would, however, acquit herself as well as she was able regardless. All there was, was to wait and see.

 

[Sam Fairbridge]

Sam turned about themselves slow, the sphere of empty air denied the flames resurgence, Sam's eyes fixing upon the new comer. The heat within the soil would not dissipate without additional inclinations Sam knew, the task of fire suppression reliant on the lack of air presently.

Sam's gloves went to the robe sleeves, and through mental command was the armour repurposed to direct the ice influence to the ground. It came in sheets of sleet, landing heavy upon the ground, blackened boots soothed by the temperature reduction, becoming slick black lumps, charred by such proximity to the wildfire. Sam urged the sleet outwards, covering the area after short time.

A sound of high pitched whining as the sphere was dismissed safely, the air rushing in where there had been naught but a vacuum. The sleet and snow touched ground melting under the sun and lingering temperatures, encouraged further by Sam's impulsive magics, a gesture with gloves here and there to prevent a further fire from emerging again. The blackened spot where the lightning had struck true was concealed in white winter.

Contented by the immediate danger being nullified, the wealth of concerns bestowed themselves to Sam once again. Sam looked for any sign of the flying thing in the air, but found no hint of it in the sky. As if remembering that there was present company at all, Sam looked to their company.

"I've been dispossessed!" Sam said, sad and forlorn about the matter. Tone turning more beleaguered from hope as more dreadful realisations did emerge from the circumstance.

"A great beast of flight, with some mage atop it did steal my possessions entire! My livelihood, my past, was in that backback. My books! My journal and spellcraft book! All uplifted by some brigand mage, one I can no longer see in the skies. I hate to ask, but..." Sam said, and looked somewhat sheepish, the hat doing much to conceal the arcane oddity that did speak of such troubles.

Aeyliea

 

[Aeyliea]

The inrush of air made her hair fly, braid tugging at her head for the brief moment it took for pressure to equalize. The native drew the spear as much for comfort as for ease of access and speed of response. Violence was the law of this arid place.

Perhaps this fellow did not know, or understand.

She booted the horse into a trot and closed even as the ... creature spoke. She was unsure if it was man or woman or anything else. Not even sure if it was human at all. When it spoke, it spoke words that she did not understand. The trader tongue served for the purpose she had learned it for. She had leaned more heavily on it in the last year or two than ever before.

She was still not comfortable with the common tongue, though.

She looked down on the creature, face scrunched in thought and spear in hand. "But?" Her tone was short. She was still parsing through everything he had said before. "Steal? Many things here do." She eyed the scorched earth, memory of monumental magic at play, and blinked in disbelief.

"Much... power? Steal, you?" She scoffed, and tensed. "Why... why you bring fire here? Make it go?"

 

[Sam Fairbridge]

Sam felt the frustrations of being misunderstood mingle with the rising dread of not finding their pack again, set their gloves to tremble for a moment before patience did take reign with cool instruction. Indulging in quick reacting anger might be appropriate for trying to thwart a fleeing thief, but such rages were not appropriate with potential help.

Fingers tightened and relaxed, a gesture made as illusionary magics did with animated pictures did present in front of Sam. Like a flip book illustrated by luxurious quill stroke, Sam was depicted with pack, walking. Then great bird with talon did snatch the bag, to Sam's alarm, thrown down to the ground by impulse of magic from mage rider. Then, away.

Sam depicted the bird, crudely constructed from ghostly hue, flying into the distance. A lightning bolt from Sam, thrown to strike at the bird.

That was explanation enough, Sam thought to themselves, as speech was resumed in place of expository illusions that faded into nothings whence they came.

Sam pointed towards the sky, in the rough direction the bird had lumbered his possessions through heated air.

"I'm trying to get my belongings back. You understand? My things, taken from me. That bird has them. Whoever is riding them has them! My life is in that pack! Irreplaceable! I didn't mean to start a fire. I didn't even know I could project lightning that far. Indeed, at all. Accident you see. Just wish I'd..."

Sam looked down, the brim of their hat hiding their eyes that peered at the sorry state of their boots. And abound underfoot was snows that melted, revealing soil much burned by the fire now a memory.

The hat turned up. A fresh line of inquiry.

"You're of this place I take it. Where would a magic user, a bird rider, roost? Where do you think they could have gone? Do you have any ideas? I'm...I'm not used to this sort of task. This is all too much. My spellbook might have held an answer. Now it's just me. It's just...me. And, well, what help you can offer. Please."

Sam felt the demands of recent spells make perspectives mottled and corporeal maintenance strained. Their eyes dimmed, as if Sam was yawning for a moment, a shake of the head, a slight staggering. This was the first time Sam had extended their powers in such quick succession, and gripped their sleeves as if cold. Indeed, a shivering was about them now, as mana drain took affect upon the magic user.

Aeyliea

 

[Aeyliea]

The series of images explained some things by inference. So it was the figure that had stolen from him, and then fled into the wilderness.

She reassessed the strange creature before her, cocked her head to one side. "Not here." The words were delivered flat and final. "Hide in the Sea? Maybe escape notice. Maybe not. If kin find, thief not live long." Certainly true enough. Outsiders were, more or less, seen only as prey out here.

Vel Anir had come and been bled. The Empire had come and been bled. Elbion had come and been bled. Settlers from far and wide and conquerors of the same. The Sea took them all into its arid embrace and spit out the bleached bones. The No'rei simply helped along the process of natural selection.

"That way, little water. Little food. Much danger," she said. She gestured after the direction that Sam had indicated his quarry had fled to emphasize.

Her immediate desire was to avoid the situation entirely. The strange creature would definitely meet an end in this unforgiving place. So, too, would the thief of its belongings. Except...

...except there was an opportunity here. Her purse was low almost perpetually. It was a consequence of the thirst that assailed her whenever she was near civilization. It was also a result of her inability to not be fleeced by unscrupulous merchants.

She shifted in her saddle. "What is... worth? Maybe help? Not free."

 

[Sam Fairbridge]

Sam nodded deeply, hat dipping sincerely in agreeance, understanding the meaning of commerce and labours exchanged for coins. Sam's hand went to the collar that did surround the shroud of their face, running it in circular motion.

The other hand reached in for purse. A purple coin purse was retrieved, and held within the palm. As if a blooming flower did the purse open from tight strings, the glittering gold and silver within speaking true for itself. While the purse itself seemed miniscule, the yawning mouth of wealths gathered from sales from the month spoke for themselves, sparkling with allures.

"Much danger, much pay," Sam said as simply as possible.

Sam offered from open palm the purse.

"We find them. We get my wares back. My goods. You can take your pick from what I sell as further reward. I can keep up to your speed," Sam said, determined yet saddened by what would enable them to travel swiftly, "I can travel swiftly now I suppose, now I'm without."

As if to provide evidence of this fact, both to themselves and their tracker, Sam did will their ghostly form away from boots, retreating into the robes as a more natural state was embraced. The robes appeared to float, and indeed was, Sam's ghostly form gaining degree of levitation, as their spectral nature was embraced for want of expedience, and lack of weight of goods.

The hand still aloft with moneys, Sam spoke on. "My name is Sam Fairbridge. Shall we give chase?"

Aeyliea

 

[Aeyliea]

"Keep coins. Pay after," she said. She straightened in the saddle and cast deep blue eyes in the direction of the escaped villain. She slipped the weapon she had pulled back into its scabbard hanging from the saddle and absently rubbed at her aching arm.

"Aeyliea," she said. "Not need great speed. Only not stop much." Her thick accent was difficult to follow for most despite the fact that she spoke in a clipped manner. Her native tongue would be far easier, but it was very rare to find an outsider that could speak it at all, let alone fluently.

She closed her eyes and listened to the wind, to the ground, and to the sky. She was one with this land, at least. At least she could understand its whispered song.

"Yes," she said. She gently nudged the flanks of her horse, and the beast started forward in an easy trot that she could maintain all day and into the night.

 

[Sam Fairbridge]

Sam nodded at the accord reached.

Boots so discarded, robes ending in nothing, Sam did float and kept pace.

The land provided it's allowances and forbearances as they travelled, animals that did peer and keep shy, predators that did with long tooth prowl and hunt. The birds did wheel in formation, the trees with bark familiar with the harshness of this place did resist the heat that did rise as a haze upon the horizon. Low grasses did sway in the lackluster winds, and the two did travel according to the path provided.

Their course was leading them closer to the refuge of the mage and beast, for the beast was a being that did shed great clumps of matted fur from it's back where the rider did find itself. A thing of feathers upon it's broad wave like wings, as if it were a stingray of the skies, an amalagamation of other creatures in it's creation. The beast was a host of unusual creations by the magi who did command it, and did leave a scent of blood where it dipped low in it's strains to stay aloft and true. The tail whipped around poorly for balance, as if it were an afterthought to the process of flight, a tendril much like some cat of nine tails, much thorn in it's cluster.

While magic took firm place in the flying beast's creation, it still had needs of that of regular nature's offerings. The neck of the beast, long as a stork's yet thicker and muscular, as if it might sweep away a man in one clean shake of disagreement, craned and the head, a vile thing of teeth and low sheening iridescent eye, as if it bore a peacock's feather's hue, did stare at the magi that held the reigns. Dry was the mouth that did hold the teeth of a shark, face similiar to that of a bearded lizard, scaled. The amalgam of creatures did smack it's lips, as if it to communicate it's wants.

The mage did nod, and looked about.

And wrenched the beast with thick straps of silver studded leash towards that which it's ride did want.

An oasis, small in nature and communal area of peace between the wildlife that did gather, had been peered by magely eyes that had asconded with the pack of Fairbridge. Jewels of red that did sit in a hood of blackness, robes that were swathed with silver runes upon robes that scarcely moved, as if sluggish to relate to the world's affections. The runes were maddening to look upon, and set the mind to aches if peered upon. Indeed, the animals that did lap from this sanctuary oasis did look with suspicions as the mage, aloft from great flying beast unfamiliar to the region, and turned their pained eyes away from robes that loathed the attentions of beasts.

The flying mount, descended with great rushes of wind that did set the great cats that did lap to snaring. Soon retreating from the water as the flying chimera did with great disrespect to the ways of the communial ground of the waters, did fill it's gullet with the waters that did disturb muchly from it's quenching. Only a singular rhino did remain stoic in the presence of such a thing, horn lowered as if in reverence to the water.

The mage did flare his eyes at the cats in cold defiance, meeting them without any sign of flinching.

The cats did slink away, sated enough not to suffer the company of abomination and humanoid cowled in such robes that did strain the eye to see such silvery marks.

The mage dismounted silently, and hefted the pack from talon still hooked about the straps.

"Let's see what that animated thing did carry," the mage did say, as pale hands did rife as the beast did drink, unaware that the owner of the pack had recent help to find them in their refuge. The robed one did filter through potion and wand, identifying them through understanding of the Art. Hands did look upon rings that carried basic enchantments and discarded them with disgust, as if offended by such simple things.

The beast did drink, and those eyes looked hungrily at what dared to remain at the oasis, as rhino and abomination did calculate their chances and course of action.

"Ah, what do we have here," the mage coo'd, and chuckled to itself as a great journal bound by leather was lovingly scanned with fingertips in scholarly appreciation.

The book opened and eyes did read Sam's writing and accounts, of spells and thoughts, and understood better that which he had so deprived of possession.

Aeyliea

 

[Aeyliea]

She traveled in silence, her unexpected and strange companion in tow.

The heat became more intense as they day wore on, but she sat her saddle straight. She kept an eye on the horizon, but her eyes did not look only there; they darted round at the scenery. Her ears strained to hear anything in the tall grass, parsing out the sound of the wind soughing through it with the ease of long practice.

Every now and again her steel blue eyes would linger on the man-shape hovering beside her. The constant pulse of magic wafting from him made her nerves quiver, her eyes dart round more than they would otherwise. Maybe the low use of magic would pass unnoticed by the denizens of this place.

Maybe.

It wasn't just lions and hyenas and other predators that were dangerous, here. Her own kindred were certainly more lethal than any of the natural threats. She remained watchful.

When the sun had reached its zenith, she halted her mare in the shade of a tree. Dismounting, she slipped up to her horse's head, running her good hand along its strong neck and murmuring soft words in her native tongue to the beast as she watered it. She drank none herself; water was a precious resource and her mount would need it far more than she did. The No'rei were well adapted to this arid place, after all.

While the horse drank, she stared at Sam and idly stroked the mare's neck and scratched her nose. "Why are you here?" The question was delivered carefully, one word at a time and as clearly as she could manage. The accent was still thick regardless. "Not many ... go here. Little water. Little food. Many ... many danger?"

She held a collapsable pail specifically carried for her mount in her good hand, eyes on the mage. There had to be a reason the mage was here. People did not come into this forsaken land unless they needed to... lest they end up suffering the same fate he already had.

Or worse.

 

[Sam Fairbridge]

Sam in hearing this assumed the question wasn't pertaining to the locale, rather their formation. Sam adjusted their hat as if the question was a strong wind that might snatch it, fixing it down with an affirming pull, and securing a few items that still lurked nestled within his robes as if by nervous deflection. Busywork for the hands while the phrasing was mastered. The odd wand fastened by buckle, the lapel with a simple compass upon it set correctly. A compass that did not tell of any direction cardinal with mundane eyes to see.

Then, words as the path was taken onwards.

"Accident, wildfire and experiment," Sam said, and upon speaking those words did realisation come about. A silent shuffling of the shoulders as if to mimic laughter, a self depreciating shake of the head, although some hints of embarressment as to missing the question. The language being so succinctly broken between them gave wild gulf for interpretation.

"Oh, you mean here, as in here," Sam did say, and pointed to the ground and gestured about.

"I don't need to eat or drink, but, yes, many dangers, which I can...appreciate now. It's a big sky it seems. But, well. I wanted to see the animals. I wanted to see what I'd read about. Books are great. But the drawings, don't compare," Sam said, keeping their language brief as to not cause confusion.

"Why are you here? Your...home?" Sam did ask, still unsure of what that meaning meant. Home to Sam was a place of creation, learning, underground security, endless books and fellow predecessors to their form. Not wild wide spaces where flight was endless and one's boots could continue in a straight line forever it seemed.

Aeyliea

 

[Aeyliea]

"Not need to eat? Drink?" She was puzzled by this. She looked at the sky questioningly as well. It didn't seem any bigger than it had before, just one big expanse of aching blue from horizon to horizon. She tried to parse through the other words but had difficulty with them. Things like books and reading were unknown to her; there was no written language among the No'rei. Everything was passed along by word and deed.

"Many animal danger. Care, must take," she said after giving up on trying to understand those handful of words she had not context for. Shaking out the collapsable pail, she looked off into the heat haze with gleaming eyes.

"Watering hole not far," she said, and indicated with her hands an arc of the sun that might take two hours for that glowing orb to traverse. "Maybe find flying thing there."

She turned and mounted up with some difficulty. Her left arm might as well not have been there for all the use it was to her.

She winced at his questions and looked away. "Was. Not now. Now, no home." She didn't add anything else to it because she didn't know what she could add. Being a member of the tribe had been her entire identity; raiding and killing the outsiders had been her whole life. Reading the stars and communing with her ancestors and interpreting the will of the Seven and the host of spirits that populated this sere land had been all she wanted.

Now she had none of it.

 

[Sam Fairbridge]

"Ah," Sam said softly, "Ah," again, softer still, a wealth of possible tragedies hinting themselves in the dark trove of the past. Sam looked to the ground that did course, the movement of the quadruped casting shadows that Aeyliea did ride, the dark that danced across the plains in contrast to Sam's own shadow. A far calmer affair that moved in accordance to the wind resistance in contrast to the pounding locomotion of muscle and strain. Sam did find themselves fascinated by the play of darkness against the sun baked ground, thinking it appeared as apparatus that did go in regular pattern and motion. The sound of breathing of the animal a reminder that this was no puppetry, no shadow play that Sam was audience to, but something that did power itself at the behest of this helpful individual. An individual that did not understand Sam's own language quite clearly, but thankfully, understood the nature of helping another.

With this thought in mind, and cemented within the foundation of their mind Sam's eyes did turn up, to see with closer eye the malefactor that had deprived Sam so. The watering hole a host to cowled being that was before the pack, quickly being scrutinised and pillaged as the winged abomination was beginning to enter the water in a great disturbance of what peace was respected. It's wings outspread and gaudy, the water bubbling from the immense heat the beast did generate and retain, a mixture of muscle and arcane seeking the comfort of bathing.

Much to the chagrin of the animals that did circle, the water becoming darker for it's new patron making steps beyond slaking thirst to quenching heat. Drinking ceased, snarls were upon lips, and much chagrin was in the making. And fear.

The cowled figure did hear the great body of the beast step into the pool, and stood in anger beside the pack, gleaming red eyes from a cowl of black. A voice raised, shouting in infernal speech at the beast, curse words that the beast heard but paid no mind. The beast itself moved from one thought to the next in cold logic, now cooling from the water, did hunger make it's impression on behaviour.

The rhino remained locked in eye to the abomination that did with ugly movement wade towards it. A stamping of feet of the rhino, a weighed measure of the horn to prepare to contend with this thing's approach and assault.

In common speech the mage muttered some capitulations for his mount's behaviour, allowing it to do as it wished. Turning back to the pack, shaking his head in some disgust for the beast he did harbour, the mage cast a furtive glance across to his stolen goods, and in doing so saw the two, Sam and Aeyliea, make approach.

Frozen in place, hands held to the mid section, the mage gave address to Aeyliea, sharp and hissing, loud and amplified by cantrip. The words barrelled out, caustic and accusatory, as dark inks did slip between gloved fingers as further malice was being appropriated.

"Is that *your* servant?"

The mage seemed beyond capable of regarding Sam, eyes to Aeyliea as if she was responsible for all decisions and address.

Sam was a flurry of thoughts, slowing their approach as magics being brought to bear were analysed, mana gauged by mana, counterspell and counteraction being prepared. Whoever this mage was, Sam was determined not to allow them to lash out and harm.

All this as the rhino did stand it's ground against the looming hunger of strange chimeric beast that did wade to the centre of the pool, gaining speed as cleared the deepest part, the dark nature of it's welding together spoiling the cleanliness of the drinking water.

Aeyliea

 

[Aeyliea]

Her eyes were drawn to the abomination first, but the harsh words from the sorcerer made her eyes swivel to it. Her eyes narrowed at the tone, the fingers of her good hand twitching towards the scabbarded spear. She could feel the arcane effluence coming from the robed figure and its abomination of a pet too. She frowned at the feeling, much like sand caught between her skin and the meat below.

She made a gesture of warding. Almost at the same moment, she felt the ancient wyrm stirring in its abode hundreds of miles away.

<"I have no servant, ajine,"> she hissed in her native tongue, the words flowing like the wind off the savannah. She grinned at the creature, overlong canines gleaming nearly as brightly as the scales on her shoulders and neck. <"Is that your abomination in the water?">

She sat her saddle straight. She noted the pack - the item of interest to Sam - and her eyes narrowed. Thievery claimed did not mean thievery committed, but stealing was a grave thing. Amusingly, it wouldn't have been stealing if Sam had not survived whatever it was that led to the pack being in this creatures possession rather than his.

She had never really asked how it had happened.

<"Looks like you have something that doesn't belong to you?"> The question at the end of the statement was out of courtesy and nothing more. Sam had stated it was theirs. It was mere curiosity as to what this creature had to say of it.

 

[Sam Fairbridge]

As words spoken of a tongue unknown to the mage did reach his cowl, a shimmering of enchantments interlaced in the fabric did provide translation, speaking clearly of answer delivered directly into his ears. A sound of balking, a gutteral remark at the final statement from this huntress.

"That is indeed, my abomination," the mage did say, fingertips coiled with the foulness that grew more willful for the moment, so pooling in hands that now arranged itself in triangle form, fingertips to the sky, a space that did fill with that opaque wrongness.

"If that unseen servant is not yours, then, well, I don't see any issue. I saw no Master within the vicinity. Clearly malfunctioning, it was walking with a small arsenal of the Art upon it's back. Perhaps it has some confusion in it's Weave, perhaps some golem paradigms meshed in it's rote role. It matters not. That of the Art, belongs to those of the Art," the mage did say, looking not once at Sam as the owner of the abomination did speak the mantra.

Sam, with the command of the weave within it's own frame, was coursing with thought and prediction, their flickering white eyes looked to that which the mage did draw.

The abomination did lurch closer to the rhino, tail snapping, mouth awash with water, eyes hungry. The rhino did ready itself for what slowly drew nearer, taking few steps back so it might charge with horn should it reach the other side of the pool.

Sam began to speak, quiet yet steady in pace and volume.

"My Master is dead. My name is-" Sam did speak.

Finally those red eyes flashed out in indignant rage, finally looking upon Sam with unbridled disgust, as if propriety had been grossly offended by the utterance. And with that glare, did the amassed energies so clung to space between the hands, did lash out in torrent, hands jutted out to bring sufferance.

"Name?" the mage did cry incredulously as foulness brought about the desired reprimand, darkness, corrosion and corruption did barrel towards Sam.

A glimmer of light of pale blues, constructed by virtue of preparedness by Sam, a shield that did neutralise that foulness to grey nothings. Sam winced as the brute nature of the spell was negotiated, the blue robes fluttering and the fingers of Sam's gloves did tense.

The abomination was caught between it's hunger for a meal of rhino and the sensation that it's master was embroiled in something. Obedience was demanded by expedience and self preservation, and it's brute mind seem to consider if it had to abandon it's meal to serve the mage. It's head did turn to look at Aeyleia, craning from within the water that did foul. Teeth did bristle and eyes did leer, as if to indicate the futility of involving herself with any of it's master's intent.

"Clearly malfunctioning, deranged even! To speak of names! I did not realise the full extent of the problem with this misfiring thing," the mage did say, making a small motion of derisive laughter.

The black magics continued to eminate, so locked in torrent. Sam continued their vigil in silence to defend themselves, locked, tense, strained. The mage seemed unfettered by just a display of power, looking again to Aeyliea, words of pity reaching her now as he did continue to lash out.

"Let me guess, this broken instrument came babbling to you about something about this luggage? You've been duped by a literal broken tool. Walk away. The luggage is mine. That of the Art," the mage did begin, and willed further coiling energies about the sleeves of the robe, as if a building force was being mustered against Sam, so interlocked already. Eyes turned to Sam, dominant, possessive and superior, Sam's own looking to the magic that was being summoned, calculations in Sam's mind becoming desperate as the power rushed to the mage's fingers.

The mantra hissed out in completion of the mantra, "Belongs to those of the Art."

Aeyliea

 

[Aeyliea]

A flash of scales, empty eye sockets and a room wreathed in the dust of millennia flickered in her mind's eye. In an instant, she was there, unseen but clearly felt as a pall of dread on the air. The summer heat fled the oasis and Aeyliea found her breath misting as though it were a wild winter, a rime of frost skittering round the edge of the water.

A thrill of fear washed through the huntress. Every now and again she remembered the brief exchange in the darkness beneath the plains. She always managed to convince herself it was all a nightmare. Of course, she knew it wasn't.

Because her patron was here now. Closer to being here in the flesh than she had ever been before. Ancient sorcery swirled round the No'rei like stagnant air.

<"Perhaps you mistake me,"> she said with only the faintest tremor in her voice. If he mistook it for fear of his magic or his beast...so be it. Neither were terrifying as the manifest presence of one of the Seven themselves.

The Mother. The Betrayed. Slain but not dead. Existential dread did not even begin cover what rolled through her now.

<"And you definitely do not know whom you speak to."> She sat the saddle straighter, staring unflinching between either threat. She would not let fear of one of her makers undo her. Her people were not cowards. Threats, empty of otherwise, would never sway her or her kin and especially not in the presence of a goddess. And it took a lot to kill one of her kind, too. <"That of the Art belongs to me if I say it belongs to me,"> she said.

Spear out of sheath and in hand in one blink.

Off the back of the horse, flying towards the beast in the relatively shallow water in the next. Trailing behind her was an icy comet of eldritch magic she did not understand and was not entirely sure if she wielded, or if it even could be wielded.

Didn't matter. No one talked to her in such a dismissive tone, not least of all a talking robe. Getting paid was simply a bonus.

 

[Sam Fairbridge]

"You have not the wit," the cowled one hissed as magics in motion did surge towards Sam, "nor the Way!"

A wave of dominating will did manifest in a wave of vertigos and claustrophobic panics against Sam. White points for eyes did darkened and flutter, their hands wracked from the sensation, spasmodically trembling and shocked.

The abomination saw the spear, and knew the meal of thick leather skin was away from it. Another had presented. The heavy thing of wing and patchwork beast did make tread upon the ground, swinging wide with wings displayed, eyes upon the one that drew weapon against it's master.

The water did trail as gnashing of teeth began, saliva hanging and trailing from appetites building. Looming was it's shadow, pace increasing, wings serving air not for they were laden with water, instead shuddering as if to lash violent this one that drew spear.

But the beast, so intent upon defending it's master, had forgotten it's previous target.

Horn levied, charge commencing with the strength of the true wilds, a collision that did send the abomination to screeching, to grind into the ground as the wing was pierced and wide feet did trample. It did attempt much shrugging, tail lashing at the rhino that barely brushed it aside, the animal turning to flee, mark made against this beast.

Sam sensed something within them turn against themselve. As if a compass was being made to face a new north, as if a candleflame was being slowly snuffed.

Something else. Something else turn in defiance of this corruption. Words mingled with something deep, a signature written in duplicate that did languish large at this attempt of repossession.

A pained statement, quietly said, yet deafening to the magic presented.

"Fairbridge belongs to Fairbridge," Sam said.

The spell did cease it's torrent, broken by the declaration. Sam fell to one knee, both from enduring such wrenching, from such a declaration. The cowled one did step back themselves, their hands shaking with rage.

The abomination's blood, black and bubbling, did pour from puncture, wing dragging on the ground as it did lurch closer towards Aeyliea.

"Beast mine," the cowled mage did utter in a growls he did circle Sam, another wreathing of energies being willed into being about their hands as Sam did try to rise, their own spellcraft rising to the occasion.

"Strike her!"

The abomination made good the request, lurching forward against Aeyliea, one wing dragged, head lashing out abrim with teeth and obedience as the two mage's did set the Art to their bidding.

Aeyliea

 

[Aeyliea]

She touched silty ground with her bare feet, splashing befouled water. In violence the plains nomad found purpose and confidence that she might otherwise lack among the cities and peoples of the world. Everything condensed to a simple binary: victor, and vanquished.

Toes digging into mud in a way boots could not, she altered her course, darting round as the beast snapped at her. Eldritch sorcery swirled round her, filled with a presence too ancient and terrible to comprehend. The chill in the air spread so that it encompassed the entire oasis and sent whatever fauna remained fluttering into the skies or back into the Sea.

She changed direction quickly to avoid the snap of teeth, using the spear and its foot of bladed tip more like a scalpel than a piercing weapon. She drew blood with a quick strike then danced out of the way again.

Or at least danced out of the way of the head. The tail came as a surprise and a stinging rebuke; the No'rei found herself airborne with a blow that might have been crippling to a human. She landed on her bad arm and nearly blacked out from the spear of fiery pain running up and down the ruined limb.

She got back to her feet in time for the oversized beast to miss an opportunity to end the fight then and there. Blood leaked from lacerations on her midriff, but the wound quickly ceased oozing. She had kept hold of her weapon despite all of this, and quickly struck again.

<"Be dazzled by the brilliance of Lochin, devil,"> she hissed. Dancing to the side, she planted both feet and thrust her spear in front of her and concentrated. One of the many bones woven into her hair glowed for a brief moment before crumbling to ashes and then motes; a feather followed suit.

And then the head of her spear flashed brilliantly for a moment, illuminating the oasis and surrounds like a miniature star. She closed her eyes a moment before and opened them a moment after. The pall of shadowy sorcery round her recoiled from the brilliant light for but a moment before coalescing round again.

Waiting.

Darting nimbly forward, she went in to do more damage to the beast. Once this creature was dealt with, she would teach the magi that their kind fared no better with the No'rei than anyone else.

 

[Sam Fairbridge]

Blood drawn from precise slices, the beast spilled blood that failed to clot as Aeyliea's own injuries had. Years of evolution and primal tests had not brought this creature to the present moment of survival, rather, the magi had forced limb and mind to inhabit this beastly amalgam of designs. It's blood spilled in rushes that showed no sign of stopping, vitae slipping from chambers unnaturally driven.

Something within this beast's brain knew that the sensation of so much blood leaving it so was a fatal sign. A memory of a life before this one crept into effect, eyes did narrow at the blood that fell into water. Deference to the anger and command did argue with lingering thoughts of self preservation, echoing thoughts of inbound death. Locomotion slowed and fear began to force it's crown about the beast's behaviour as blood fell without relent.

Slumped of wing, dragging of leg, the beast did become defensive instead of ferocious, making warbling low vibration from it's maw to draw attention to it's predicament as it sought succor from master embroiled.

The waters became illuminated by the display of Aeyliea, setting the beast to shrieking, it's eyes facing the contrast of endarkenment from losing blood pressure to this intense flaring light, reflected by oasis so.

The mage too was set to being undone by this unwelcome display of light. A minature star had seemingly detonated, flaring light piercing the darkness of the cowl, leagues of piercing illumination barely barriered by the kowtowed beast.

The flaring light triggered at the moment of conjunction of magics. The serpents of blackness that were wrathful in construction and bound to the magi's will were abolished, the robes set to writhing and angered protestation, lashback of shadow will striking their mind.

Sam did complete their warding magic even in the blinding white of Aeyliea's spell unveiling. Sam's own magics were based on the raw evocations of manas, instead of what darkness found itself coward in the face of such flaring might.

Sam's own robes began to shimmer with pale cyan as warding magics did shield and protect, the villain that had stolen from them was to their waist in water, eyes failing to adjust to what blindness held master and beast in locked tension. And this moment afforded as blood did seep into the water, as magely hands were wracked with apoplectic gestures as the Dark attempted to ignite it's hold in spite of such recent brightness, Sam did wind their arms about the backpack, returning it true to their back.

The wards did shimmer and glow, welcoming the familiar backback to it's home with a low whine to mark the presence as friendly.

The thief of possessions did place a hand upon the beast of patchwork primality. The Dark flowed slow, fearful and weakened by such lights shining fierce, ichor of blood slowing, yet no strength returning to beast from such rudimentary emergency repair.

Yet, for the magi's supplication of wounds already inflicted, more were being woven by spearpoint of Aeyliea, ferocious in approach after such flaring. Grand display of wing did attempt to shield, much slicing received for such protections of it's master and position. The head did recoil at such pains received, some snapping to dissuade further approach, yet not bold enough to risk a cut to it's own throat.

"Away!" the magus did breathe, slinking around to mount the beast as it did receive the brunt of Aeyleia's follow up attacks. Footholds were locked into as the beast lurched awkward, unsightly and ungainly, it's cargo precious open to attack.

Reigns were being fished for by blinded eyes, the beast itself barely able to draw wings perhaps too damage to escape via flight.

"Away damn you!" the mage did hiss, blinking, looking for reigns as vision slowly returned, beast confused and wildly moving, reigns escaping senses, flight near enough impossible in such a panoply.

The water, darkened by blood and foulness inherant to the chimera beast, had soaked the wings, and combined with injury endured, made escape nigh impossible.

Blindness in both scarcely relenting, both looked in wild blinking in Aeyliea's direction, much folly in the delayed execution of leaving this oasis, pain in beast, anger and desperation in the other as scorn was replaced with far too late arriving expedience.

Sam looked on, backpack secured, and did wreath another spell as to protect from what might be channeled against Aeyliea. Sam did not know much about combat, but they knew the sign of something magical in construction fighting to keep integrity, the crackling of blue shimmers in the Weave did indicate that the beast was close to dissolution, if not organic failures of the flesh.

"Away! Away!" the magus did screech, kicking at flanks as sparks did splutter about fingertips, magic failing, flight denied.

Aeyliea

 

[Aeyliea]

She delivered her cuts and thrusts with precision and the skill of long practice. It did not seem to matter that she was one-armed in this, at least; when the beast tried to defend itself, she cut through those defenses with implacable, utter ruthlessness. As more damage was done, the beast became slower to defend. Her own onslaught did not slow.

She had been shocked at the effectiveness of mere light. She had only sought to blind the beast so that it could not strike her again so easily. Perhaps it was the presence of the ancient. undead wyrm that lent that magic more potency than expected. Or, perhaps, she had simply struck a weakness.

The nomad was not accustomed to using magic purely as a weapon. It was an aid to misdirection, to mending flesh if needed. Those more closely tied to Lochin and Rath could call balls of fire or lightning from a cloudless sky. She had been aspected of Kosin.

But since she had found the dead, the undying shell of the Mother in that cave...well, that connection had been severed and replaced with something else.

Only luck that the something else had changed little of what she could do.

"Coward," she hissed as the magi tried to beat its abomination into flight again. "May Rath welcome you to the Sea in proper fashion." The words were spoken in a melodious manner, a supplication that Rath might-

-not even hear. The presence in her surged, several of the charms in her braid crumbling to ash and a sense of weight pulling at her. She staggered a moment, even as a pillar of cloud suddenly erupted above, the rumble of thunder growling across the plains.

A wind picked up, buffeting her and blasting grit in from the grasslands. The scent of rain filled the air, even as the reins of such powerful magic - barely hers to begin with - were stripped from her. She was vaguely aware of the penumbra of sorcery surrounding Sam, if not what his - or its - intention was with it.

"Face me, creature," she challenged. Clouds billowed outward, the wind picking up with the continued rumble of thunder.