RP:How to Draw an Enchantment Out of a Hat
This is a Mage's Guild RP.
Meditation Center
As you step off the stairs, you see people who study the mystical arts all sitting or laying down in deep meditation. Some of them are chanting while others hum, speak soft prayers, or their own personal mantra. There are no windows in this room, but a small altar is at the far end of the room, with many candles sitting on and around it. The light in the room is thus a little dim, but it’s perfect for this room, creating a quite and kind atmosphere. All around you are nice, lush pillows and carpeting, very comfortable for one to relax and forget the body and expand the mind. There is also quiet music playing from an odd device in the corner of the room. This place seems very peaceful, and you can almost feel the spiritual world nearby. There are two sets of the carefully crafted stairways from here. One that goes up and one that goes down to the ground level.
Svilfon was, believe it or not, using this room for its intended purposes. He was sitting crosslegged, though it's difficult to tell with his robes bunched around him, and his eyes are shut, expression seeming almost tranquil in the quiet room... almost he is at peace, but not quite; resting somewhere in those relaxed features is a hint of tension that never quite fades away. Nevertheless, with eyes shut and body still, he looks close enough like a monk who's sent their spirit far away from their body and are now at one with the universe, or something like that. Or rather, he would if he wasn't wearing, as ever, his fantastical wizard's hat. That separates him easily enough from anyone else within this guild... or country... or world, for that matter.
Ezekiel couldn't even remember the last time he'd been here. If he recalled correctly, Satoshi was teaching him how to channel a small flame; that lesson blew up in his face, quite literally. For someone so intrigued by the world of magic, he didn't seem to take the initiative one would expect from a young, aspiring mage. But in his defense, life happened. So did: lycan attacks, crime lords, hypothermia, stampeding wyvern and a smut-writing dragon. If it wasn't one thing, it was another. Ezekiel was on his slow ascent to the top of the tower when the small, spherical ball of scrap that was his clockwork ferret came rolling out of his pocket. Noisily, he clattered down a couple steps and rolled into the meditation room. He of course, chased after. "You're going to be the death of me.. just you watch."
Svilfon hardly seems to react at first to the unexpected noise of the clockwork mage's rather ungraceful entrance. A single pale eye opens and follows the path the created-ferret until it lifts a shade to watch the mageling chasing after it. Ezekiel. Svilfon knew of him, both from the Guild itself and from Satoshi, and within mere moments the wizard is uncrossing his legs to stand. A crooked smile has formed on his face, though it's mostly hidden by his beard, and in a voice crisp with the authority of a high ranking member of the Guild, the wizard speaks. "You there! Who are you to interrupt my meditation?!" The wizard flails his arms as he takes a step closer "You could have killed us all!" Svilfon is about to continue, before the snickering of other magelings breaks the wizard's final barrier against the onslought of laughter, and it rushes in, even as he waves his hands down in a calming gesture. "They said you would startle easy... I had to see..." The vampire continues to snicker at this, despite whatever Ezekiel is doing. "I am Svilfon."
Ezekiel had been through quite some hell since his last visit to the tower. Not to say he still wasn't the skittish, arm-flailing rabbit we all knew.. he just didn't spook 'as' easily anymore. Regardless, he still rose an eyebrow and took a couple cautious steps backwards, ferret in hand. "That's not fair.." Bump. His back gently bumped against the wall near the stairs indicating he had no where else to step, other than forward. "I take it that's the image I made for myself with the entire guild?" Cautious studied the mage, wondering how much he actually knew about himself. "If they didn't give you a name.. you can call me Ezekiel." Naturally, this was where a man offered his hand to shake. Ezekiel had a minor issue with contact, specifically all things physical.
Svilfon merely tips his hat in response to Ezekiel, ignoring his question, while offering a crooked smile which still strains occasionally with his unhidden mirth. “I was hoping to scare you out of the tower, then to chase you down. I am glad, Ezekiel, that you're not quite so skittish. It bodes well for what we will do this day.” The wizard seems to take the fact Ezekiel will adhere to his wishes for granted, but Svil tends to do that a fair amount, and mostly people do. “Come, follow me. We have work to do, you and I.” With a nod to the clockwork mage, Svil turns and walks up the stairs, heading for the rooms more guarded than these.
Ezekiel held the small mechanical critter till it eventually curled back into a ball. When he realized this, he just shoved it back into his right pocket and raised the same eyebrow again. He was hesitant, naturally, but quietly followed in close pursuit. He had a bad feeling about this.. that's what -she- said the last time he ended up with a blackened face full of ash. "I'm sorry, pardon? Work? Oh no no no.. I just came to see if, you know what.. I'm not sure I have the time-" There was the babbling Ezekiel we all knew. All it took was a little jostling, which the wizard seemed damn good at, and he was already trying to talk his way into an exit. Either way, he kept following, the hesitance in his step great.
Mage's Training Center
As you enter this large room, you notice you are standing behind a clear wall of magic. On the other side are numerous mages using every type of spell one can imagine: Firebolts and ice crystals fly all around, some even summoning great beasts of battle. None of the spells seem able to move outside the barely visible barrier, and you guess that is its main purpose. You see some of the mages are using quarterstaffs and pikes, trying to learn the art of combat to complement their mastery of the mystical. Others are very young, and this type of fighting is more to learn discipline, rather than excel their special abilities. This definitely must be the place people that come to actually practice and learn magic. Your only way to exit is down, or cross the barrier to the east. An old man suddenly appears next to you in a shimmer of gold, sparkling, light. He smiles to you and bows slightly. Greetings! I am Oriyan, perhaps I could help teach you some new tricks?"
Svilfon pauses when they enter the place set aside for learning spells; a room with powerful protections to stop destruction spreading beyond its boundaries. The vampire nods to himself, before, after once again ignoring the words Ezekiel speaks that he doesn't want to reply to, he responds to the man. “Yes, work.” He nods at that, as if the clockwork mage is agreeing with him, before pulling from his robes many shards of a broken, blackened sword which even the most gifted would have trouble putting back together. The wizard had made the weapon himself and imbued it with power... but the first time he tried to use it, the sword melted itself down into.. well... this... a pile of metal that the wizard places on the ground. “It is my intention, young mage, to create two weapons... but every time I try, the blasted things explode. You are going to show me how. A lesson in reverse which will be rewarded, of course.” The wizard nods at that.
Ezekiel stood there with a blank expression on his face for the longest of moments. As if his brain had glitched and kicked offline for a few seconds, the mage did not reply right away. "I-I'm sorry, what? Oh no no no no no.." he mumbled quickly, "I can't, you have the wrong person, I don't know the first thing about weapons. A blacksmith would be more than able to fix this." Again he started to take a step back, then two.. and perhaps more if not stopped. His elbows were bent and his hands held out in front of him. He looked at the pile of broken shards too, wondering if perhaps this was a test that could be answered in the most trivial of ways. "I mean.." he sighed, "Listen. I'm not cut out for this. There was an accident.. things happened.." Like dropping a child off at a new school, the reluctance was staggering. It wasn't that he truly didn't want to complete the task, he was nervous. He had no clue who this man was, or what his intentions were. A little coaxing and he'd get it, but damned if it wouldn't be a trial of its own. "I mean, look at it. I don't know of a repair spell.. or something of like solutions."
Svilfon snarls suddenly, before both his hands snake out to either side of his body and from the air itself he draws forth his two wands; one carved of Xalious wood, the symbol of his rank within the Guild. The other has a fine gem on its tip, while the rest of the wand is carved with the dark wood of the few trees which survive in Frostmaw's forests. "I think you're failing to understand the severity of the situation, Ezekiel, so I will be clear." Without really concentrating, the wizard begins to spin the two wands in opposite directions through the fingers of each of his hands. "You can aid me, a Magister Templi of the Guild, a wizard-Knight of Frostmaw, a Wingleader of The Eyrie, and I will owe you a favor, one which I will without doubt repay when you require it. Or you can continue to stand here babbling like an idiot until I get mad enough to force you into helping me." The wands stop their spins, then, with both tips pointed at the clockwork mage. "But let us first ignore this reluctance and speak of the actual problem." The gemmed wand is dropped, though it vanishes before it hits the ground, and from within his robes, strapped it seems to his hip, though there seems to be no pockets where he pulled it out from, the vampire draws forth a new sword, this one made simply, though not terribly. Like the previous, it was in-between the length of a two-handed and one-handed blade, though the hilt could fit two hands. "I have an unbroken sword... I just need help ensuring it doesn't explode if I imbue it with power."
Ezekiel could feel adrenaline pumping through his body all thanks to the wizard's wands pointed directly at him. His palms were sweaty, his heartbeat racing, and above all else- the pistons in his mind were firing in all directions. By this point he had both hands up, palms facing Svil as if he were an officer of the law. "I-if you think you can use me, fine. I don't.. don't know what I can do, but fine." Months of confidence that he'd built.. be it running from the gangs in Cenril, or lycans in Rynvale.. gone in a matter of minutes. Between the wizard and feline he'd met in Cenril, he may as well turn in his man card after this. "Just.. tell me what I need to do."
Svilfon nods his head, before speaking as if nothing had happened. He even returns his Xalious wand to where it comes from and takes a two handed grip on the sword; the weapon held before him, though rather threateningly. "I wish simple enchantments, you see. Stuff like it never needs be sharpened, nor will it rust. Perhaps the creation of some form of light. After that, I can consider upping the ante, as it were." The wizard grins at that. "For now, just this. Can you aid me..? You can make scraps of metal run around the room below, surely you can ensure a blade never needs to be sharpened.... all you have to do is show me, and then I will try." He spins the weapon, before offering it to Ezekiel hilt first. "If we try it the other way around, there might be nothing but pieces of metal to imbue, and that won't work at all." He flashes a final smile and another nod of his head.
Ezekiel gradually lowed one hand, while reaching out with the other to take the offered blade. He saw now what exactly the wizard wanted, and realized this was beyond his reach. He did not wish to communicate this across for fear of having the two wands aimed at him again, so instead he sighed. "Listen. I have no control over what happens. Not yet at least.. I'll do what I can." His tone seemed to mellow out, if only because he were feeling more defeated than nervous. He twisted the sword back and forth a few times, inspecting many things: the quality of the blade, the type of metal, even weight. Spells, incantations, chants, rhymes.. he knew next to nothing about what it was the mage in this guild studied. All attempts at attending class ended in the most extravagant 'dog at my homework' excuses. Ezekiel held the blade horizontally and shifted his stare up. "Here goes nothing..?" The metal ring embedded in his palm lit up, glowing bright with an azure hum of energy. He was going to do what he usually did with the small gadgets he made, and roll with it. Hopefully it would appease the wizard.
Svilfon speaks quiet words that perhaps the clockwork mage wouldn't even hear, "What's the worst that can happen?" That said, he nods his head to Ezekiel and offers another beard-hidden smile which still manages to appear friendly enough coming from a man who moments before was on the verge of threatening the young mage. "You'll do fine, Ezekiel..." With eyes well used to studying various methods of arcane power, a pale gaze that has read many a word and attended all of those classes for which Ezekiel so unfaithfully followed, Svilfon watches what the man does carefully. For the wizard is studious, despite the fact he usually learns more when out casting his magic without truly knowing the outcome. So he is confident and content with Ezekiel's methods, and merely waits to see what the outcome will be. Even failure will not be punished with anger... well... probably not, anyway.
Ezekiel could feel his arm tiring under the weight of the sword, he was a man of little muscle mass. This made things even more embarrassing on a personal level. Still, he held on and kept his composure while torrents of raw, unstable arcane energy flooded to the rings in his palms. The thing with Ezekiel's magic in particular, was that it wasn't natural. He'd been the surviving accident of a mana-battery practically channeling damn near everything it had into the human conduit. If it weren't for Satoshi and the bonds she severed, he most likely would have been vaporized as a whole that night. Ezekiel was essentially, a collection of every bit of magic that had ever been used in Frostmaw's Arena, consolidated into such an explosive force.. he might as well been a walking, talking, arcane bomb. Not training him was perhaps the most foolish thing to do; on the bright side, he had absolutely no clue how to use any of it. While the pulse of energy grew, it extended down through the hilt and past the face of the blade. The azure light continued until it was engulfing the entire blade. To best describe what was about to happen, the clockwork mage was about to draw a random enchantment from a hat, and slap it to the core of this blade. Gods only knew what could become of this.
Svilfon watches keenly as Ezekiel's magic flows through him, coming from a place the wizard cannot truly understand, channelled in ways beyond the grasp of his own blend of magic. But be that as it may, the Magister Templi is still a student of magic and well learned in many of the archaic arts. So though he knows not quite how, he can still appreciate what is being done to the weapon he forged himself. As the light engulfs the entirety of the blade, the wizard leans a shade closer. He is well warded in this room against most accidents, and even if he wasn't he's never yet let personal safety stand in the way of learning. So with his face near the blade held in a wavering grasp, he ensures he misses nothing of what goes on while a portion of his mind begins to tick over with using his own magic to get similar results.
Ezekiel had at some point, slid his goggles down till they were securely fastened over his eyes. The intensity of the light hid the blade from sight, so it was with these tinted lenses, he could see what exactly was going on. The longer the magic channelled, the louder it grew. He was pouring days.. weeks, even months of the Arena's magical essence into the blade, hoping something would stick. It was like holding the button down on the remote, watching hundreds of television channels flash before your eyes. Hundreds of voices, visions, and flashes of subliminal whispers flooded his mind; people wondered why it was he couldn't sleep from time to time. It wasn't until he broke focus and found himself staring down at the wizard. He watched as Svilfon studied his magic and the imbued weapon- then caught a trace of what it was he was doing. It was at that exact moment it all fell to pieces. "Oh no-" It was all he managed to mutter before the backlash of unstable energy came bouncing back, and in full force. He'd exploded one too many pocket watches to know what was coming, and instead of holding onto the blade, he crossed both arms in front of his face. In the blink of an eye, he'd gone from channelling his magic into the sword, to being thrown across the room due to the backlash of too much unstable energy with no where to go.
Svilfon doesn't fare much better than the clockwork mage beside him. As the glare gets bright, eyes merely squint against its force while the wizard watches keenly, both his mind and magic entirely focused on the sword. With concentration so intense, he only just manages to catch within his mind the words spoken by the man. 'Oh no...' those are not words of confidence. This is the last coherent thought which finds home within the mind of the wizard before he's sent hurling backwards through the room. He's not harmed by the force of the unstable energy which whips out through his connection with the sword, and he gets himself in enough control during his brief flight that he strikes the back wall in such a way that he absorbs some of the impact before sliding down to land on his feet. With a shake of his head, Svilfon grins and stretches his back out while walking forwards. "Concentration, young Ezekiel. You need to learn to forge your own so it is like... well... a sword; unyielding and unbreaking against the fiercest onslaught." That little analogy has lost some of its surety in light of what's been going on this day, but it's spoken anyway. The words are followed by the waving of his arm, to bring Ezekiel back - the wizard doesn't seem too concerned with the man's well-being - before he mutters, "Interesting..." It seems near death experiences no longer quite hold their power with this particular vampire... all things considered, this is not so surprising.
Ezekiel was curled over on his side, groveling in pain. See, when pocket watches were overloaded and exploded, they only hurt the face. Swords.. these were bigger; more boom. The mage hadn't felt a rebounding backlash like that since the initial accident a year back. He had the biggest headache right about now. Still, he picked himself up off the ground and gradually made his way back across the room so that he could face the wizard, but more importantly (to him) inspect the sword. It laid there in the middle of the two with several chips bitten into its sharp edges. He frowned. "It's not normal, is it? I asked around, I did my research. This magic isn't normal." Again he looked at the blade, mostly because he had hung his head in shame, and noticed something.. off. Those same chips that were there moments ago, looked as if they were being pushed out. Or rather.. He leaned in and dropped to a knee for a closer look. If Svil had said anything to him, he may have missed it. Like the frost gathering on a window, the metal seemed to grow outwards in a strange, crystallized fashion. Splintered shards of metal, almost microscopic extended and bunched together till the chips in the blade were almost gone; was it regenerating?
Svilfon follows quickly behind Ezekiel, moving with sure steps so he's beside the mage, before kneeling down and once again inspecting the blade. A few quiet clicks come from his tongue and he watches keenly what is going on, before he speaks in a voice which would only just carry to Ezekiel, though whether or not it's intended to isn't entirely clear. "Not normal... no... none of us are... which is what separates mages from other schools." The wizard shakes his head a touch. "But still, effective, I think... I wonder... Hmmm..." With a nod to himself, the wizard stands. "Move yourself, young mage." The wizard would give no other warning before he begins to speak a series of words in a complex language that seems to have far too many vowels. As he does, his hands begin to trance intricate patterns into the air, quickly twisting over themselves until a sphere of flickering fire is born before the wizard. He would in truth ensure Ezekiel wasn't in the way first, but even if he had to kick the man, there would not be a huge wait before he drops the sphere of fire down at the sword. In just a moment the second spell he was casting is also given life, a shifting of the air around the blade to help restrict the force and instead drive it down into the weapon. Svil didn't want to destroy it, of course... he merely wanted to see how effective it was. Fire soon meets steel in a a blast which would have rocked the room were it not encased in magic, and moments later the wizard is letting free his spell to contain it so he can blow some air in an attempt to clear the smoke and see how the weapon they made fares.
Ezekiel did indeed move to the side, and even put an arm up to shield his face while the wizard applied his spell to the sword. It was a blast that in any normal circumstance, would have destroyed it by both shattering and melting it into a pile of fragments like the first. When the smoke cleared, it appeared that was the case, at least at first. Broken in three with melted edges, the same regenerative growth that repaired the chips, was now working to repair the latest bit of applied destruction. Albeit slow, it worked much the same way a star fish would with a missing limb. Somewhere in that infinite directory of magic, Ezekiel had imbued the blade with a regenerative spell, with absolutely no idea how he did it. He could only wonder what else had been stored in that magical battery hidden under Frostmaw's arena. Nervously, he laughs. "Not quite an edge that stays sharp forever.. but.. close enough?" He scratches the back of his neck; a meager attempt at humor, in light of the situation.
Svilfon shakes his head at the young clockwork mage beside him. “You do not see it, do you? You have given me a gift far greater than I could have anticipated, and were I a wiser man, I'd have asked for something similar to this: A weapon which can withstand the failures it will inevitably endure... until I can make a working solution. It is just what I want... and in truth, something that could make us very rich if we cared about such things,” The way the wizard speaks those words makes it clear that he doesn't care about such things and neither should Ezekiel. “If my spells fail, the weapon will not need to be remade. It is too slow for battle, but perfect for study... and then I can apply spells which work to a new sword. I am now in your debt, Ezekiel. I will not forget it, and if you have need of me now or in the future, you have to just call. I will come and aid if I can, as long as it doesn't harm Frostmaw or this guild.” The wizard tips his hat then, solidifying his words with the unconscious gesture. “You are useful to know, Ezekiel. You should spend more time in this tower.” Even as he speaks to the clockwork mage, the wizard very rarely takes his gaze away from the sword – watching intently he is as it puts itself back together.
Ezekiel didn't feel comfortable accepting the debt which Svilfon swore upon. Then again, he probably wouldn't have felt comfortable with a 'thank you' for holding the door for someone. He was weird like that. He too, for quite some time, seemed transfixed on the sword. He had to squint, but watching the needle like spindles of metal gather and push out like frost had an effect. "I tried. I really did. I don't know if it's my subconscious finding excuses for having not been here.. or if life keeps throwing obstacles to keep me from here." His body ached, but he'd not let it get to him now. Instead he just stuffed both hands into the pockets of his long coat and sighed. "Have you seen Satoshi? It's been a year.. I wouldn't be surprised if she thought me dead by now." It's this wry humor that actually gets him to chuckle.
Svilfon offers a wry smile to Ezekiel, even as he responds, "Well named is the One Lesson Lady. Perhaps many thought you dead, I know not. I pay little attention to such details until they've become facts." Which is in fact a lie - the wizard liked to know everything, rumor or not. But he doesn't always let on such is the case. "As it is, she will be glad you've returned when she too comes back. Gone she has to hunt with Kasyr. I am in charge, albeit temporarily and with Hildegarde beside me, of the Eyrie and Frostmaw... or at least, in theory I am. Both require little to no input from me. But a week, ten days... she will return. I will tell her about our lesson this day. She will be happy, I am sure, to realize it was one given by you to me." The wizard tips his hat at that.
Ezekiel tore his eyes from the sword and turned his head to face Svilfon. "Eyrie?" He'd heard that name pop up on several occasions, but never had the urge to pursue it's meaning. "I suppose I'll make the trip back to Frostmaw, and as long as the barkeep in that tavern doesn't mind me sleeping at tables.. I will wait."
Svilfon grins, "He will not mind. I assure you." The wizard would see to it that Drargon doesn't get too... grumpy... well, as much as a wizard can tell an old retired frost giant what to do... which, in truth, isn't a whole lot. Nevertheless! He would try. "I will tell the lady icicle that you're about when I see her. And thank you again, Ezekiel. I will remember well the aid you gave me this day."
Ezekiel buried his fingers in his tangled mess of hair while he backed up. Again, this was where a man offered his hand to shake, but with Ezekiel being borderline phobic about physical contact, he would not be shaking anyone's hand today. Not tomorrow. Not ever. It felt rude.. but so did scaring a unskilled mage into playing with the unknown, at least that's what he'd tell you. "Thank you, and good luck." That was about as sincere as he could get, social interactions as a whole just weren't his forte. When he had backed up a considerable amount, he would turn and quickly descend the stairs. His body hurt.
Svilfon answers Ezekiel's words with a last tip of his hat, before returning his attention to the weapon which is still knitting itself back together. "Yes," he says so quietly none could hear it. "A profitable afternoon had by us all." With that said, he nods to himself before going back to silently watching the sword complete its work.