The Tower that stood so imposingly tall over the burgeoning city of Valenntenia was more than a mere landmark; It was the beating heart of the city itself, where all of the work that kept their livelihood intact was conducted, where all decisions that would shape their future would be made. It was a forge of Guardians, heroes wielding weapons from beyond their time, all within walls erected before man had taken first breath.
To Rovias, it was simply home.
To be sure, it was also his place of work. The modest chamber he'd been given as High Mage was filled from floor to ceiling with his effects: Tomes, tools and tablets, long stretches of parchment pinned to the walls displaying the most intricate of equations and graphs from a mind dedicated to the scholarly art of the Arcane. Tables riddled with strange oddities, vials of colored liquids and powders, and a thin cloud of smoke that clung to the ceiling of the room all painted the picture one would expect of the laboratory of The High Mage of Valenntenia.
There was only one part of the cluttered room that was clear enough to easily navigate, that being the section by the circular window looking out over the town below. There sat a bronze-skinned young man reclining in a velvet-cushioned chair, a large book open in his lap and a pipe hanging loosely from his mouth, the source of the strangely sweet-smelling smoke in the room. This was a well-deserved break, a reprisal from the intense labor that had driven this room to the mess it was in now. The fruit of his labor? A small rectangular stone placed upon a small pedestal, center-stage among the chaos of the lab.
Finally, it had been perfected; An artificial Runestone. Weaker and finite though it was, it possessed the same properties as the genuine article, that intangible link formed between wielder and stone. Trial and error marked both of Rovias' hands, the flesh seared and scarred by catastrophic failures, his stress only increased by the ever-creeping deadline awaiting him at some unknown horizon.
It mattered not. He had his weapon. Now, he needed only the person meant to wield it.
"Mikko Cendrillon." Rovias spun in his chair to address the Somner standing in his doorway, his eyes not leaving the pages of his book. Pulling the pipe from his mouth, he blew a puff of smoke across the room. As it rose, it spread and reshaped itself to form the vague visage of the Vanguard in question. "It's meant for him, I'm sure of it. Be a darling, would you? Tell him that The High Mage needs to speak with him on an urgent matter."
The Somner left to deliver the summons, and only now did Rovias raise his eyes to let them linger on his creation, a short pang of envy rushing through his jaw, clenching it tightly. It should have been him, he thought to himself, crossing the bridge of man and god he'd forged with his own hands. Solomon had his reasons for forbidding it, and Rovias was loyal to The Absalon's decree, but...
He sighed, taking another draw from his pipe.
"Who am I kidding?" He muttered to himself. "They wouldn't know what to do without me."
Mikko Cendrillon
To Rovias, it was simply home.
To be sure, it was also his place of work. The modest chamber he'd been given as High Mage was filled from floor to ceiling with his effects: Tomes, tools and tablets, long stretches of parchment pinned to the walls displaying the most intricate of equations and graphs from a mind dedicated to the scholarly art of the Arcane. Tables riddled with strange oddities, vials of colored liquids and powders, and a thin cloud of smoke that clung to the ceiling of the room all painted the picture one would expect of the laboratory of The High Mage of Valenntenia.
There was only one part of the cluttered room that was clear enough to easily navigate, that being the section by the circular window looking out over the town below. There sat a bronze-skinned young man reclining in a velvet-cushioned chair, a large book open in his lap and a pipe hanging loosely from his mouth, the source of the strangely sweet-smelling smoke in the room. This was a well-deserved break, a reprisal from the intense labor that had driven this room to the mess it was in now. The fruit of his labor? A small rectangular stone placed upon a small pedestal, center-stage among the chaos of the lab.
Finally, it had been perfected; An artificial Runestone. Weaker and finite though it was, it possessed the same properties as the genuine article, that intangible link formed between wielder and stone. Trial and error marked both of Rovias' hands, the flesh seared and scarred by catastrophic failures, his stress only increased by the ever-creeping deadline awaiting him at some unknown horizon.
It mattered not. He had his weapon. Now, he needed only the person meant to wield it.
"Mikko Cendrillon." Rovias spun in his chair to address the Somner standing in his doorway, his eyes not leaving the pages of his book. Pulling the pipe from his mouth, he blew a puff of smoke across the room. As it rose, it spread and reshaped itself to form the vague visage of the Vanguard in question. "It's meant for him, I'm sure of it. Be a darling, would you? Tell him that The High Mage needs to speak with him on an urgent matter."
The Somner left to deliver the summons, and only now did Rovias raise his eyes to let them linger on his creation, a short pang of envy rushing through his jaw, clenching it tightly. It should have been him, he thought to himself, crossing the bridge of man and god he'd forged with his own hands. Solomon had his reasons for forbidding it, and Rovias was loyal to The Absalon's decree, but...
He sighed, taking another draw from his pipe.
"Who am I kidding?" He muttered to himself. "They wouldn't know what to do without me."
Mikko Cendrillon
