Fable - Ask Showing On The Shield!

[Murk Altov]

This was no parlour trick.

This was art.

This was a show to be remembered!

This was quite the undertaking.

Murk Altov had a job of gaining the Knight's trust in tampering with their defensive shield, for what he proposed could have been an act of sabotage in the making. But after some proof of concepts and some time amongst them, drinking their fine examples of alcohol, observing their ways and drills, absorbing the history within the library and simply spending time with squire and pursuant alike instead of making demands of their resources, Murk had everything he needed to proceed.

The light show was to be on the scale of nothing that had ever been delivered in recent or distant memory. A reverberation of magic across the shield so it might become a vessel for fantastical images that would move and illuminate the night sky.

It had to be respectful, yet adventurous, it had to be awe inspiring yet not terrifying, it had to be bright but not blinding, it had to amaze yet not stupefy. Something that was akin to theatre with it's acts and scenes, something that could be understood by anyone who had eyes to see and arcane senses to feel the pulses of energy that were to be revealed.

The show proper was in three nights. The demonstration that this was indeed possible was in one hour. Murk had not been shy in telling the knights that this was to occur.

Murk felt the familiar thrill of pressure upon his shoulders. He worked on.

Murk Altov had placed silver rods, sixty in total, that spanned the circumference of the shield's reach. He had spent the last two months doing such a thing, testing the system that would reveal such artistry. During this time he had learned much of the Knights of Anatheum, it's heroes, it's battles, accounts and stories from those with them to tell. He had enough to weave a show that was respectful.

Or so Murk thought.

He held a crystal that was invaluable to the practice of illusionary magic, something woven in a stream of space and time that was rich in divine light and rich in possibility. He stood upon a stone wall, his hands cupping the crystal. It pulsed in purple light that informed Murk of much.

“Three displays of magic from a sworn knight? Before you allow me to do this? Good security but damned inconvenient. One hour, one hour to find those who are sworn. This can be done. This must be done.”

Murk jumped down from the wall and hurried to find someone, anyone at all, to approach to ask for assistance.

 

[Seluria Estel'Narqua]

It was approaching evening- the sun's light was waning across the sky as vivid blues faded into warm golds and crimsons. Splashes of color flowed and rippled across the surface of the pale maiden's robes like water, even without her own willful locomotion to drive such. Nay- at this moment, Seluria was resting with her back against the gnarled bark of an ancient willow, her head downcast toward a small book clasped in her hands. The mask was carefully pushed upward upon her brow to allow her ease of access to the literature before her, its shadow and her position blocking any curious gaze that may have strayed her way.

A breeze stirred the grass, setting ripples across the waters of a pond a few feet away from her. Footsteps could be heard from a small distance away, and soon approaching. Curious- most had been more leisurely at this hour. The Duskers had only begun to stir from their sleep, and the Dawnlings were soon to set with their sun. Or at least the most of them.

Gently closing the book, one alabaster hand rose and slipped the mask back down to its proper place as the Seer looked up, spying a man with a keen if hurried purpose in his step. One blink- and then two- my he was moving quickly wasn't he? Perhaps it was the simple fact he was moving with such single minded purpose that the maiden was caught off guard, or perhaps it was something else she saw in or about him within the Loch, but Seluria found herself baffled and bewitched while staring at the man much like many were by her own presence.

A twinge of self-consciousness. Quite disconcerting to feel.

Murk Altov

 

[Murk Altov]

Footsteps pressed on in quick pace, all leisure of the evening discarded in exchange for haste.
Cloak billowed with depictions of arcane sigil, sash across the middle, eyes that sought answer to the riddle.
A shield with all deflection summoned at threat, yet illusion to be cast across it's breadth.
Security sought by those sworn of Anathaeum,
Such inquiry drove this master of light's mannerisms.


Murk made approach after some time of walking,
Roughly fifteen minutes divided between three,
That now left ten with whoever was underneath the tree,
which gave some time to talking.


He made approach from the other side of pond, and disturbed it not with fleet of foot or sudden stop.
He made a small glamour of light produce from his cloak, a rainbow spectrum that sparkled and shot.

“Good evening! I am one Murk Altov, and I require your assistance if Knight Syr you be! My great work requires faith of one sworn you see, one who might unlock the powers of this shield that protects this place so completely. I have writ of permission from Captain Helena as to the value of my work. I'll explain in due time but I must make haste. Can you help me in my task to assure the shield mind with a simple display of magic, of your domain of Loch, perhaps?”

@Seluria Estel'Narqua​

 

[Seluria Estel'Narqua]

"A Knight Sworn I am, Murk Altov." the maiden responded, her masked gaze unwavering from him. A faint smile played about her lips, the colors resplendent across his cloak dancing faintly across the robes pooled about her like a flock of birds among the clouds.

At the mention of the shield, Seluria's head tilted ever so slightly, the chime of jewel and stone faint against the fabric enshrouding her. "That explains it... one with single minded purpose strong enough to sway the Wolf of the Vale... so that is why I only see but one reflection..." she murmurs softly, as if to herself, and then chuckles- the sound like children cavorting among bells, or drops of morning dew striking the plate of a Squire caught asleep in a field of grass. Her gaze returns to Murk, and the Star Seer nods but once.

"You shall have my assistance, good sir." she replied. The maiden rose to her feet gently, and tucked the book away somewhere close to her side. "And... I suspect further help will be soon forthcoming." she murmurs, glancing further down the path.

 

[Murk Altov]

“Diviner, seer and patron to the Loch, do I thank you most sincerely,” Murk said as he curled his hand within the air as if running is palm through the waters of magic that surrounded this place so deeply. He plucked a device from the ether, and pulled it from the nothingness that promised so much. A cane of obsidian topped with a pure diamond the size of a fist of incalculable wealth, it's surface shining with the perfect cuts that was his to wield in his craft, shimmered into being and was placed upon the ground. Such a display was performed without ceremony, without ego, as if he were doing something as mundane as a simple word of thanks.

There was no time to lose however, so Murk spoke on.

“Your powers must be scarcely displayed before the diamond to allow one key to turn in the lock of the shield,” Murk said. “It will pick up your arcane signature and soothe the concern of that willful protective device once I plunge this relic into the laylines. For your aid, I promise this, you will see across the night sky a display of what is possible.”

Murk's eyes shifted from slate grey to a wonderous collage of colour, the shimmering light an ocean of dreamlike ether that fumed within his eye entire, showing for a moment, dimming back to grey as he continued.

“And what is to come. Shining seas of light, and should you wish your vision to be cast across it, this, and more, will be all too possible. But first, a cantrip of some order I must compel, if you'd be so kind to provide, so as to give this a hope of succeeding.”

The diamond awaited the conjuring from one sworn, the first of the three. He felt assured by the seer's insight into the arrival of another to Murk's project. It would only succeed if he encountered another two, and secured their signature just as he had secured Helena's own on the writ he had not needed to show. Such a lack of request from the seer had only reinforced the perception that this Knight was as well versed as he in their shared profession in the stuff of magic.

Seluria Estel'Narqua

 

[Seluria Estel'Narqua]

Whether the pale maiden was surprised by his display, enamored, or disapproving he would never know, for the mask withheld much save for the ever present gentle smile upon her features. Listening attentively as he spoke next to describe his request, the woman glided forward but a few steps. The breeze played with her robes, and for a moment, she considered what would be worthy of display upon the wards that so guarded their sanctuary. What could be added to the night sky without intruding upon the star's subtle majesty?

Something scarcely seen. Something inspiring. Something wonderous. Something ...simple.

Yes, that would do.

Dipping her head with a soft chime, the maiden cupped slender fingers seemingly carved of ivory around the diamond. For a moment, a soft glow emitted within the gem; a rippling green, blue, yellow and violet, before it faded. With a gentle breath, she released the illusory crystal and stepped back, giving him a faint bow, and an amused flicker of a grin.

"Not many have gone to such places as I have seen, to gaze upon the splendors of the night. I think this should be suitable." Seluria replied.

 

[Murk Altov]

Murk resisted his penchant for discussions on night and day, a subject he had involved himself deeply with the Knights in small measure around alcohol. How the craft changed in complexity according to the ambient shades of colour delivered by the light source, star or moon or sun, on the ethics of invisibility, on the complexities of working within dawn and dusk as two separate schools of thought. Such subjects had been well received at first, but Murk knew he was far more invested within the craft, of light palettes and how they refracted according the density of air. Of dawn and dusk there had been endless elaboration and professment of pride concerning their divisions of thought. But as to the craft, well. There was only one person that matched his academic enthusiasm to discuss at length the minutia of the craft.

He paused at the thought and discarded the thought quickly with a small twitch of the head, as if the thought was invasive. Now is not the time to dwell, he thought.

But then, he thought, this seer with such a gift to offer of the night sky may have opinion upon it beyond the regular observer, the regular knight. To have eyes to see such a thing from the ground, a gift of divination clearly. She is heavily perfumed in the arcane school of the scrying arts, I can tell. But best not comment on such an observation, for fear of seeming too bold as to my observation of the method of magic, us magic users can be a private lot. But then, she is a seer from I can tell. Perhaps one with ethics to privacy.

Diplomacy has gotten me this far to my goal, so shall I proceed, with the espirit de corps concerning the shield, and what wonderment awaits should I succeed.

When I succeed.

Murk twirled the cane and left an aftertrail of the light bestowed unto the crystal, so harnessed and booned to him from the seer, the colour of rich spectral purples, greens and blues of the night trailing with all faith to the true phenomena. A test to see if there was enough stability within the crystal. Flawless though it was, it required great skill to impart such a vision within the crystal, and Murk was impressed with the tenacity of the stability of the constructed magic. He nodded with satisfaction, and placed the cane upon the ground.

“Powerful, potent, completely stable. You're a credit to your specialization, and to your Order. My sincerest thanks, I shall paint the shield with visions you bestow to me, with all faith and verisimilitude to what you have seen so eloquently. I must find another to grant me another domain. Good time is being made. Good time indeed, thanks to you. Might I have your name before I depart? So I might give proper credit for this deed being possible when I cast upon the shield, and speak of it in future?”

Murk smiled softly, but was all too aware of the pressing nature of time upon his heels. He kept still in awaiting response, but wanted nothing more than to find the next person who might unlock the shield's capacity for illusion in this moment. Proper etiquette and decorum kept him in place, both in respect to what had been offered so freely and trustingly. And besides, he would feel foolish to describe her in physical attribute or illusion. A name was a powerful thing Murk knew.

Seluria Estel'Narqua

 

[Seluria Estel'Narqua]

The breeze stilled; the only movement around them the gentle sway of the water, and the changing hues of the sky above. Vibrant crimsons and magentas bleeding against fading and darkening blues. An idle hum in thought. "My name is Seluria, Murk Altov." her voice rang quiet and clear over the space between them. "Seluria Estel'Narqua."

It was an old name. One she knew, and had consciously selected, he sensed. For a moment, as the long shadows cast by the ruins of the Monastery stretched over them, it seemed as if the claws of dozens of terrible, translucent beasts wreathed around her.

Then, the gem set in the center of her mask flickered with a stray beam of sunlight cast between the rocks, and the likeness vanished.

"I best not hold you here too much longer, good sir." she chuckled, her slender frame arcing in a bow. "The next one you will see has a penchant for being quick on their feet, but you seem the type to be able to keep up. So I wish you well, and I eagerly await the display of your Art. Stars know it has been a long time since many of the Knights here have felt the same wonder as they did as Squires. It will do them some good."

 

[Murk Altov]

The gem reminded him one in his own collection that he had bequeathed to his student. Again the thought of him came to mind. Was this some power this seer had to remark upon the mind of things close to home, Murk thought, or just the human nature I have not distanced myself from.

Nevermind. It's irrelevant.

“Fascinating name, much portents go with it, as does the well mannered stock of your power. You honour me by uttering such a moniker. Such allowances for my art will not be forgotten, nor answer to my question. Like all magic, there's a power in names, ironic,” he gestured to himself, “or otherwise. I shall not speak yours with idle wit. And so, I must go, lest I be more idle than potential misgiven words to a powerful facet of the fabric of last light. We shall speak again.”

Murk offered small bow, and was off again and hurried speed to encounter the next person who might help the shield understand that he was indeed benefactor, and not saboteur.

 

[Helena]

Permitted guest or not. It did not sit right with Helena that Selene had smoked half a pipe with the man, and saw it fit to have him traipsing about the grounds.

Murk Altov seemed like a trustworthy sort. At a glance, at least. But he was an illusionist of repute. A master of trickery, and obfuscation. Fine and good things for knights on the field to learn and wield and have at their disposal. But for a man who was... how did Selene put it, inspecting their wards?

No. Certainly not. Not with so casual a vetting process. As such, Helena strode across the monastery grounds, stride a measured clip, and her head held high, gaze locked on the distant pillar of stone, one of many she knew circled round the grounds of their sanctuary. Their home. She saw the man, or his figure, gliding across the grass.

She moved quicker. Feet faster, though she looked no more rushed for her speed.

"It is a fine and proper thing you've offered us, Murk Altov!" She called out as she neared, a wolfish grin there just beneath her pleasant smile. Her eyes held warmth, yes, as the sun too held warmth. But like that same sun of day, they were unyielding, and unforgiving.

"An inspection of our shields, I heard tell," She stopped before the man, and her white cape snapped with the sharpness of her shift. The bright red ruby at her crown gleamed deep and red beneath the sun, and her circlet of flowers fluttered with the breeze as her golden horns shone with the day's light. "So, tell me, Great Magus of Light, Murk the Magician, Altov the All Wonderous," She smiled. "What secrets have you gleaned from our timeless defenses?"

Murk Altov

 

[Murk Altov]

Murk halted his movements, and breathed deep in to fuel his conversation. He would have to make this quick to make proper time according to his own schedule, but spared no detail in his report. Already the devices set around the grounds were beginning to draw in charge from the laylines to allow amplification of the master device. This situation reminded him of when he had been asked questions by the minotaur lords as to how he had found their labyrinth to his liking, and chose an equally candid, yet precise, answer, for preservation of his future career for fear of seeming like a saboteur to what had been so carefully created to defend his hosts.

“Captain Helena of the Dawn, Defender of the Wylds and Arbiter of Daylight Justice, let me illustrate the full bearing of what might of shield your Order possesses.”

He pressed his cane upon the ground, which made a satisfying thunk sound in spite of the soft grass it pressed upon. A disc of pearl white pooled around their feet that did shimmer and coalesce, before spiralling up around them to form an illusionary dome around them. The shimmering light was easily received by eyes, and did not blind. Murk breathed, and willed the dome to carry all manner of data points and arcane architectural details. He spoke slowly, for he knew what he was about to impart was as tightly compacted as the shield's very own defences.

“An ancient superhelical design with counterbalance grounding and reinforcement protocols at equidistant points rooted in the laylines that cross paths in harmonically favourable positions in a hyper dense and hyper reactive lattice matrix that renders this place supremely safe. Safe from bombardment, scrying, and the all manner of ills. For each angle of incidence that is received by arcane injection of manifestation, be it abjuration, such as a simple brute force overstack protocol of breach spells, or omniwill scrying methods, structural integrity is maintained via the momentum provided by the near constant pulses from each trigger point on the layline, and each reaction across the interweave of the conductive pulse wave. The primal chord of stability, if pressured, or indeed somehow broken and silenced, will maintain the overtones to ensure the mediant and dominant remain in good company with the root manifestation of intent, that being, protection of this place. That, is to say, if one managed to overcome one singular point of the thirty sources of rippling helical impulses that keep the arcane pressure, it would not weaken the shield, rather, the rest would compensate by introducing subharmonics to emulate the downed prime note of intention, preserving the chord of protection.”

Murk during all this had illustrated through diagram as to what he meant. The lattice shown as a nested collection of power motes, the helical nature as if water spiralled upwards and constantly around the shield without losing pressure, the reinforced notes a simple C chord across an endless keyboard that stretched up to the very peak of the dome.

“The shield cannot be broken via the surgical knife, for it is indivisible of mind, for all parts think as one as to your Order's protection, and how to do it. Many shields like this if breached will down themselves completely as they recover. Not so with this design. And because of the integrity of the system, I intend to use a inverse bowshock framework to visualise an illusion across the inward facing lattice matrix. To explain the inverted bowshock. Simply think of water breaking on the bow of a seavessel, that wave. There is also a resistance to be found within the physical property of the vessel as it slices through the water, a vibration that mirrors the shockwave that eminates outwards. This internal vibration from the pressure of flowing energy shall be the sounding board which will carry the harmless illusions. Such a negative space bowshock, the effect of momentum which is constantly flowing around this place to keep it constantly effective instead of firing up at a perceived threat, requires authority to allow me to do such a thing. I must convince the immune system of the arcane setup that it is not somehow infected by something like a anti-magic devouring system. Which is quite the precaution it prepared for, considering that things which consume magic are not native to this realm of existence and are things that until now, I had no confirmation existed.”

Murk dropped the illusion, returning their surroundings to what it was at all.

“But it seems as if whoever designed this shield was very aware that these beasts strange who feed on magic are possible at all, which is a credit to them. As is everything about it in fact. But as you can see I am no wraith of magic. I am just a man who wishes to present a show.”

Helena

 

[Helena]

Helena's eyes did not lose the intensity of their stare, though her smile did soften as she shift her weight onto her heels, a hand rested at her hip, opposite of her sword, and the other, relaxed at her side. "Very good," she nod her approval. "Too oft the college trained come to these grounds and think us but simpletons," her teeth peaked through the crack in her lips. "Simplicity of concept, mistaken for a shallowness of understanding or lack of ability," she raised her eyes up to the sky, with a hint of pride in the shield she knew was there. "It is refreshing to hear from one with a broader perspective of the arcane,"

She had grown beneath its flux, upon these grounds, protected by the very helix this man now probed for weaknesses. She could sense the very shimmerings and pulses of the lattice work shield, as her own magicks twist and spread into the ground beneath her. Gave, and took from the earth itself.

Perhaps Murk would feel it. The Wyld roots of magick that ground the young captain to this place. How they touched on things beyond the measure of her years, as such things nurtured and tended were want to do.

"You've been given a gift of the Loch, yes?" she asked, and her eyes came back to meet Murk's, for she could feel it, cool as snow fallen upon calm waters. "And need two more such gifts to put on your show," she bowed her head, and worked off the flowered circlet and ruby that rested there above her brow. She rose, and offered it to the illusionist. "Is there something more you need?" she asked.

And if Murk accepted the gift, he would feel the ruby pulse warm, and warmer within the palm of his hand.

Murk Altov

 

[Murk Altov]

Murk's eyes shimmered silver as he regarded the artifact. A circlet of such power from a Captain no less, what a generous and helpful sort these knights are, Murk thought to himself as he reached for the circlet. The thing was heavy with overtones of magic itself, and as he extended his hands to receive it, his arcane wits were greeted by the deeds done from not so recent past. Of the wolves bounding through the forest with snarling jaw against the foes of Anathaeum. Of the wide brimmed sun that greeted the day and looked upon the burning displays of glory that the knights had embraced as part of their calling, fields of cleansing, combats won through the might of the flame that this circlet now granted him vision of. And granting this vision, so too did Murk see that the domain of flame was being offered to him, that serpent snake of fire that would wreathe fresh life into his illusion to come across the shield.

Murk was familiar with such an experience of images becoming apparent on touching such a device, but the fact that circlet provided such a memetic memory only cemented his opinion that this order were possessors of great, powerful things and abilities.

“You honour my cause,” Murk said coolly. “This is a fine example of flame magic, and has served you well I can witness. Many spellswords would waste such a device, but I can see that it is not so with your Order. This circlet's pulse of history tells me much of the application you have faced with such a thing. And there is something, actually, Captain Helena. I've been thinking. I believe for this ceremony to function true at it's properly cause, that there should be more than a passive experience. It should be an opportunity for not only to witness stories, but to hear them. Perhaps this occasion can be one where your knights can deliver accounts verbally which I shall illuminate across the shield. Better than me to get the details wrong, it would only reinforce the truth of what I cast. But I'll leave the details for later. Something to consider though. Have your knights love for the tale delivered with accompaniment of drink and smoke, or are they a more wholesome lot. There's a lot of people that may see this. Some things like refreshments, a whole host of oppertunities to gain coin for your organisation might be found by selling things and services. I haven't the time to organise such things. Could we speak later and assist each other to make this a grand showing worthy of the host of peoples that do people this Monastary? Oh and one more thing,” Murk said and brushed his hair back.

“I'm not from any college. I was privately schooled. But perhaps I'll speak more on that another time, once this is all in motion," he said and smiled.

 

[Helena]

Helena listened on as the winds blew and their capes did stir in the gust, and her smile widened and warmed at his suggestion, as if butter melting across hot pan.

Had they love for tales delivered with the acompaniment of drink and smoke.

"Surely, you jest," she raised her chin up with a defiant crane of the neck. "We may have held to this hallowed ground, our Monastery, but do not confuse us for ascetic monks or cowled nuns." she nod. "There is time and place for merriment and galivanting," her lips curled at the corners, and she closed her eyes and thought back to times before. She allowed herself a long breath, and gave one last nod as her eyes came open.

"Word will be sent to Astenvale proper, and any barony or march hold in the vale that may want to aid in the procurement of food and drink for such a celebration," she smiled. "Maybe you can tell me more of your schooling upon this other time, Master Altov," she bowed to the man and turned to leave. "You can pick the refreshments if you'd like," she strode away, her white cape trailing in her wake, the day's light catching against the demasque loomwork to reveal a scene of sun and flowers and wolves burning gold across its field. There but in gentle flickers.

 

[Murk Altov]

Not the dour temple guards who wouldn't accept a simple drink at the most joyous occasion, Murk thought to himself with a small smoothing of his well kept beard. Better for it this way, the whole proceedings might actually be met with something other than polite applause he thought. By the light, that previous temple work had been hard work. Unlike this, he thought, these knights seemed to know the value of showmanship, and the labours required to provide it. The Seer and Captain had provided. The Captain had provided insight into her organisation, and who she was as a person. Selene he had smoked with. The Captain? He felt as if he must drink with to learn more. Refreshments indeed, he thought, there'll be thought for that later once business is done.

He gestured to his forehead and a timer flashed into vision before his right eye. Twenty five minutes left before he had to present something, before the devices would render their power and be operational. They would spin into life and drink deep of the layline's power for but a moment, becoming infused and part of the heliacal system that he had so praised. Plenty of time he thought.

Or so he did at first.

He wandered around the place, as twenty five turned to twenty, and then to fifteen. It wasn't for lack of people to ask, but there was indeed a new standard to be met. He had expected to simply be provided simple cantrips, a mote of light, a flickering of flame, but instead found great artifacts and boons to be offered freely to his cause. A blessing, and a new standard in which to bring himself about. It was a double edged sword to be sure.

Murk sighed and fought against the desire to simply become a carnival barker to his own cause, to drum up the knights to provide the best display to match the previous two. But, such displays were always such base behaviours, he thought, lacking the dignity of a full fledged magus.

Leave that to the gnome in his starting career in the entertaining arts, I, I Murk Altov, am far beyond such barking.

Besides, I don't have the hat for it anymore, he thought.

His cloak shone with iridescence light as he heart bled at the thought of his protégé. He grabbed at his cloak and bid it behave, for it was not wise to let the cloak has it's willful moments too often with his emotional state. A useful tool, and nothing more he thought, no sentience without the cloth, just a vessel to pour one's will into and have retort one's position to the all too wide earth.

“One more domain to pluck from the kind hearts of Knights, and then this shield shall be cast upon with ethereal light, visions from mountaintop and flames from Captain wielding, let me find another soul to stop this illusionist from being defeated, let my luck grow and blossom like the flowers of Chrysanthemum, that do signal the approach of my host's benevolence and stop this all too indulgant poetic pabulum,” he said, tutting to himself for falling into verse.

 

[Marchosias]

Dilly dilly. Dilly dilly. Syrs and Squires, my little friends. Dilly dilly, dilly dilly, to save my life and make amends.

Marchosias curls their way through the little cropping of forest like a panther lazily scentmarking the rocks of it's territory, leaving brushes of those last stray sheds of summer fur and feather, to make way for winter's warm pelt and plumage. The creature had visually gained half-again in size by virtue of hair alone, and yet looked no less gangly.

It was one of those evenings that the creature remained wide awake and enraptured by the sheer chill in the air, the turn of season demanding the last hunts and forages for winter weight. And yet, Marchosias at this moment refused to go into the outer Wylds, most of all refused to go alone. Timing was of importance, and now was not the time. It wasn't cold enough for the creature's winter activities, and that reason merely skimmed the surface.

Hoo, hoo, bobwhite twill. Birds of a feather, of essence skill.

Marchosias trilled out the clear pitch of a bobwhite, once, twice, thrice, before going quiet at the glitter of something foreign through the treeline. The creature doesn't stop, footsteps soft and crinkly in the damp leaflitter, necklace of glass and metal tinkling quietly like chimes, and pricks their ears and eyes ahead.

Another little friend?

Marchosias only halts just inside treeline, eyes shining orange-yellow in the dying evening light, as they drink in the figure. A fancy little person, gripping at the edge of the sparkling cloak in chastisement. The magician speaks in versified lines upon the art of domains and illusions. It wasn't that Marchosias hadn't seen Murk prior, bounding betwixt library and anecdote, but moreso hadn't seen the man in such a state to be this interesting. Hadn't seen his cloak sparkle just so.

Marchosias tilts their head, catlike, then rights themself before approaching, the cool trill of a friendly cardinal at a seed feeder coming past their lips, the rearing wash of those things Lamented and Wyld surrounding their presence.

"You seek for something. Magician." comes their misty voice. Whether a question, statement, or accusation, is to be interpreted in other ways, for the flatness of the words indicate no particular tone.

---

Murk Altov

 

[Murk Altov]

The wind picked up a cool breeze that was refreshing to the tempers that had gathered within Murk over the timing of everything. Calm remained again, and his cloak settled into obedience, shimmering with starlight to mirror the night canopy above them. The chill was beginning to set in from the land bereft of light, but all the better to drink in the mood of sincerity about Murk.

He turned to the creature, his features not changing, yet his heart gladdened and full of caution concerning the strange beast before him. His eyes had met many a strange thing, and there might have been a time where he had be surprised by this beast's shape, but never by the fact that it spoke with such tones. A resident of the earth was entitled to the same respect as he had offered both Captain and seer, black coated beast that spoke with promise to his cause was granted all affordance to good manners by the illusionist.

Murk smiled and bowed before the creature, what appeared to be his shadow became a ghostly white that did ripple out from him in this moment of respect. He twirled his cane with white silvery light from the diamond head, passing it from right hand to left hand in simple entertaining visions of luminosity. If this beast was foul, it would have provided him with some feedback as he sensed the energies about this one.

Ah ha, the domain of death does come upon my door, and so does my deed come closer to the fore.

A shiver of mortality, distant to sensation, reminded the illusionist of all that was to pass one day. He smiled softly at the reminder. Such wonderful motes of dread he did feel at the presence of this one's magic, a dread that kept him humble, kept him in check to his own ambition.

All light is fleeting, yet I go on.


“I seek many things in this life of mine," Murk began, leaning upon his cane, "creature most noble and of finest black. You do shame the night sky with the purity of thy visage's pitch, how magnificant a creature that does speak to me of seeking this night. I am one Murk Altov, magician certainly, you are most correct. The Seer and Captain have helped me true, on this most pressured of moments to perform a great deed. I will colour the sky with what they have offered me, spells of perfect craft, and I sense that there is much darkness in you. A darkness I do not fear, but respect, and indeed, rely, for what is light without backdrop in which to cast iridescence? Such beauty of the dark does temper my spirit, and I will admit, your visage reminds me of my all too mortal heart. I have lived beyond my human years, relying on consignment of the End to allow me to do my daily and nightly tasks, and this day I wish to practice much. I wish to paint the landscape of imagination across the heavens for all those who live and frequent this splendid place. Tell me, if I may make bold with my seeking, if you would help one of light, with something of the finality of life, to render it all the more beautiful for that thing all mortals must face one day or night. Lend me your strength to illustrate the purest blacks of your coat, so that I might render the world a slight bit more beautiful and comforting to the souls, to find it better than when I found it this night. I do beseech you, creature of the dark, assist the powers of illusion in this hour, in my art.”

Marchosias

 

[Marchosias]

Marchosias bobs their head as Murk bows, watching the man's pale shadow. The creature had found the little friends responded favourably to mimicry of their own actions. In some cases it seemed to command respect, in others, caused amused delight. Both were equal in measure of importance to Marchosias. A reluctance to perform the act seemed to impose threat, or a least, it imposed one to Marchosias, after that last incident.

“I seek many things in this life of mine," Murk began, and Marchosias settled down, sitting, knobbly fingers playing with their chime-like necklace.

Is this what is called flattery? Do you flatter me?

Marchosias' head tilts slightly, expression seemingly passive as the creature looks slightly down. The magician spoke of beauty, of light and darkness, and painting the skies with wonder.

The Captain and the Seer?

"-I do beseech you, creature of the dark, assist the powers of illusion in this hour, in my art.”

Marchosias' head remains slightly tilted for a long moment, and then the creature moves closer, less than a human's stride from the magician, to sit again.

"Address me Marchosias. Murk Altov." Marchosias announces, voice unchanged. "You want to paint the sky. Murk Altov."

The creature looks about broadly, bat-like ears twisting to and fro, and mimics the chuckle of an elk.

"You will. Murk Altov. With the help of me. Murk Altov."

Marchosias sits back on their haunches, and striking both front paws across the chimes, proffers them, palms up, on level with Murk's chest. A deep rattle comes from the creature, first like hooves, then like a wagon, rolling down a rocky path. The creak of wax and wood and leather suspension, the jingle of chains and thunk of unsecured chartings. Voices unknown fade in and out between the other sounds. An apparition wisps betwixt Marchosias' fingers, whirling and cold, as their eyes glisten yellow in the faint white glow.

"Look, look! There it is!" "Hep hep, hep hep!" "Take it! Don't fail me, you idiot, take it!"

A trio of skull-eyed faces leap up from the wispy apparition, teeth bared like wolves, a-float above Marchosias' palms. Their images smudge away and are immediately replaced by a pair of horses frozen in time, rearing and screaming, and in the fading hoofbeats are replaced by a shattered covered wagon, wheel spinning endlessly. The necklace chime begins to sound more like a tolling than a mere tinkle.

Marchosias whips their paws out to the sides, bursting the apparition into a frothing fog. It is swept insistently towards the fist-sized diamond by a breeze that shifts from uncomfortably icy, to an oddly comfortable, swaddling warmth.

The necklace falls still. Marchosias releases a broad breath, and lowers comfortably onto all fours again. If Murk happens to look a little too closely, he might notice a renewed relaxation within the creature.

"You will be careful. The sky holds secrets untold. Murk Altov."

---

Murk Altov

 

[Murk Altov]

The rattle of sounds, of the wagon rolling down a rocky path reminded Murk of the additional tones and musicality that he provided with his performances when the occasion demanded. He had prepared Bubkiss for the demands of stage performance and entertainment, and the effects of sound, the language of theatrics was required often to earn coin. Murk had enough money, and he knew he had left Bubkiss enough to pave their way in the world. He thought in this moment as this creature provided such perfect tones of verisimilitude, that the Domain of Death was a curious thing to have as one of the five points of a magical structure. The illusionist considered writing some notes down concerning it and the interplay between them. But such academic pursuits and ponderings could be done as a past time, as an idle curiousity.

Murk was not quite a hierophant in the typical sense, but was a master of the school of illusion, and for this reason had to neglect certain domains of magic within his knowledge. The domain of necromancy was one that some mages had to neglect in order to attain additional understanding of illusion. Some minds could not hold the two schools of magic within their psyche, finding it slowed down their process of affecting the wave of reality with an incidental injunction of intent.

Murk was not one of these people.

The cane accepted the swirling frothing fog with beligerance, and began to tremble at the conflict of darkness to it's purpose. It was as if there was a trembling beast that pounded upon the walls of it's crystal cage that protested such an energy to whirl around the crystal head. There was not much time for what needed to be done.

He reached into his cloak, knowing that the domain of death spell in the form of the necklace would not be able to be drawn into the diamond head of his cane for long.

It might conflict with the diamond I bargained for to extend my life, Murk thought. To be undone by this Marchosias, a clearly powerful entity within it's field. A thing more of nature than of civilisation, and for this reason, Murk was all the more wary. Murk plucked from the depths of a large rectangle pocket which had properties of the dimensional spaces that he relied upon to carry his components. But this was no component that he reached for.

Bound in black basilisk scales, with two eyes that were milky with blindness that lurked upon the clasp that kept it in place, Murk brought the book to bear. He willed a mote of light to blind the eyes, else he would trigger the trap that would turn someone to stone for opening such his grimoire. The eyes were consumed by white light from Murk's diamond cane, and Murk placed the cane down into the ground, and opened the book with his left hand.

He reached into his jacket pocket for a silver tube, as if it held a cigar. But no such thing lurked within his personage. Instead, the silver tube was uncapped, and Murk used a minor cantrip of a mage's hand to pluck and grip the implement. A quill fashioned from phoenix feather, with the nib made of a unique mixture of mithril, platinum, and orichalcum. The mithril providing a pure silver colour, platinum a shining resplendance, the orcichalcum a mottled green that ran like damascus steel through the nib. Such a device was required for writing upon the black, purified vellum pages that carried with them the smell of white sage and frankincense. Murk breathed it in deep as he turned to a free page, the previous pages full of blindingly white ink on the black surface. The vellum was made of a creature which had sentience and utter malice for anything living. That was all Murk had indulged to remember for now as he breathed in deep of the purified pages that had such a dark and potent source. Murk always had the association of killing it for it's skin to fashion his most powerful grimoire.

The Liber Dwimmer

Murk gripped the pen, taking it from the mage hand. And began to scribe. He cast his arcane perspective to the device, making the proper sigils within the tome. The pages had tiny runes across it to prevent the spell from contaminating other spells, for this section of the grimoire was for harnessing dangerous spells. Spells that did not obey the typical laws of magic, a form of containment and protection for the other spells within the book. And Murk's own mind when he did begin the process of scribing.

Murk was scribing the purest colour of black, a near impossible task for one who worked purely in light. But the principles of light interplayed with the principles of pigmentation. Darkness the absence of light. Yet black pigment absorbed all essence of light and heat.

The phoenix feather burst into orange flame as Murk scribed, the nib etching the arcane runes that was required to describe the blackness of the spell that Marchosias had just interwoven. Murk took a minute to do such a thing, and felt his soul imperiled at the process of being so close to such a perfect rendition of deathly magic.

I am the Master here, Murk compelled as the process did tempt his soul from his physical, mortal moorings, do not doubt my power, Murk continued as he scribed the final word.

The spell was scribed.

Purest black.

The book was sealed and tucked into his cloak once again.

Murk gripped the cane and did bid the energies gifted by Marchosias into the black marble that the cane was constructed of. Strong, robust, able to contain the energies. The crystal had allowed the spell to linger near and within it as Murk had scribed it down, studying it through the perfect facets of that crystal head. Had Murk not operated with swiftness, the crystal may have shattered from the stress of bearing such a weight of contrary energy to it's power.

And Murk let out shaking breath, his forehead sweating profusely at the effort he had exerted, and replaced the quill back into the silver case via the mage hand once again. He shook his hand to release some of the positive healing energy of reincarnation that was inherent to the phoenix feather, to discharge the arcane conductivity of the oraculcum.

“I will be careful,” Murk said and narrowed his eyes in determination.

“Thank you for your assistance, Marchosias. The deed can now be performed. I must abscond. Live well.”