RP:Journey of the Fallen Magi

Summary: Krice encounters Odhranos in a state of distress while travelling through the Sage Forest, but it is clear there is something far darker at work on the unfortunate mage.

The Sage Forest

Odhranos stumbled and his shoulder slammed painfully against the rough bark of the tree as a wave of crippling nausea flooded his mind. "W.....what is it? I don't know what you want, Sven curse you." He hissed through clenched teeth, kneading his temples with white-knuckled fists as the nausea curdled and sharpened, stabbing like a hot poker through his head. The sibillant hissing swept through the forest, although whether it was all in the mages head or not, he couldn't tell. "Keep going." That same accursed voice that had tormented him since he touched that artefact in Raiez' cave, that had sent it's whispering tendrils of intent into his mind and had been whispering to him ever since, directing him onwards, south and east, on and on. He had tried to ignore it, tried to turn away, but his mind exploded into incandescent pain, the earth rose and physically barred his way and above all, he had lost his terramancy. All he could do is carry on, following the commands of this voice, and it's malevolent intent. After a moment, the mage stumbled to his feet and carried on, thrashing his way through the forest, oblivious to everything around him.

Krice wasn't one to stare, but as he walked along the main thoroughfare that stretched west-to-east through Kelay, commotion to the south drew his ear - a rumbling underfoot arresting his full attention. He turned, long silver hair drifting across one eye and then away from it, only briefly obscuring his vision. What he saw was unmistakeable, however; the movement of earth, the struggle of a lone traveler amid the chaos. Once things had settled, the warrior stepped forward to approach the ailing male, his katana remaining firmly secured to his back - for now. " Hey," he called, not warily but with respect indicative of caution. Gold-streaked eyes narrowed in contemplation as, from a few metres away, Krice halted to regard Odhranos, his scrutiny quizzical and observant. " Y'alright?"

Odhranos raised his eyes and met the man's eyes with a surprising clarity; the mage may have been stumbling like a drunkard, but his eyes would reveal the truth of the matter, flint hard and clear, but the mage's iconic grey irises had changed. Rather than a pure silver, the irises were edged with a soft buttery gold, creeping in from the edges and overcoming the silver. The mage made a valiant effort to stand upright, setting his shoulders and for a brief moment, a ghost of the stern grey mage returned, before his posture weaked and the shoulders hunched. "I... I'm fine, just tripped" came the weak voice from the scraggy man, wreathed in the tattered remnants of once fine slate grey robes. Curiously, slung across the mage's back lay an object that seemed greatly at odds with his tattered state, strapped between his shoulder blades by a fiberous hemp rope. The object was roughly the size and shape of a ball, an ornate cage of wrought gold, the bars curling and twisting in an organic design that contained at its heart, a swirling maelstrom of sand, permenantly hissing and turning, like a caged sandstorm.

Krice's scrutiny was unyielding even as Odhranos looked at him, though his expression shifted just subtly in response to the vision of that liquid gold encroaching on his otherwise silver eyes. The warrior was not familiar with the mage, therefore not aware of what the natural state of his eyes should have been, but he could tell that the morphing hue therein was not natural. Without nearing or approaching Odhranos, the silver-haired enigma took a moment to fully comprehend the sight before him, from the ailing mage to the odd hissing gourd on his back. Weird. " You sure?" Was all he asked thereafter, his arms relaxed and down at his sides. For all intents and purposes, the warrior projected no threat or aggression. Not yet, anyway - while the interaction was still so new, still so... ambiguous.

The mage paused for a brief moment, considering the warrior's question. He considered telling the man the whole thing, asking for his help, maybe even getting a message to those in the Guild, maybe even Linn; he was there, he could be able to help... but before he could say a word, the maelstrom pulsed and hissed more violently and his head bloomed with another stab of pain. "Tell him and your life will be shorter than a, mayfly." the voice hissed, although only Odhranos could hear it. The gold in his could be seen to encroach visibly upon the silver, nearly subsuming it, before abating. The mage bit his cheek in an effort to withstand the pain, drawing blood that tasted sour and metallic on his tongue. "Get out of my head." The mage growled angrily, his eyes blazing, and for a brief moment, the silver shon through. Meeting the man's eyes, a brief plea for help flashed through the mage's eyes before they were clenched in pain.

Krice definitely could not hear that voice. The only voice his acute hearing was attuned to happened to be Odhranos', and anything said in the mage's mind was invisible to the warrior, aurally and otherwise. The warrior observed closely, attentively, his keen eyes locked onto changes - however subtle or obvious - in the mage's appearance from eye colour to bodily behaviour. When he cringed out that warning for someone to vacate his head, Krice arched a brow but seconds later assumed the obvious; either someone was talking to him through telepathic means, or this man was possessed. With the lifting of those pleading, silver eyes to his watchful crimson ones, the silver-haired enigma broke his silence to utter a cautious, " There's a healer just north of Kelay Way. He'd... be better suited to helping you than I could." His left eye narrowed slightly as apprehension flashed briefly across his face.

The mage shook his head soundlessly, but the other seemed to take exception to the warriors statement. Driving the mage to his knees with excruciating pain, the maelstrom spun faster and faster until the high pitched howl of a sandstorm echoed between the trees, shrieking like some demented creature. The mage clutched his head as noncorporeal claws dragged through his mind and a torn and suffering cry broke through the shrieking cacophony. Suddenly, the earth erupted, tossing and rumbling like a localised earthquake, stones and dirt and sand tearing chunks from the forest floor, and rising into the air, where they hung, shivering with the energy poured into them. The mage's cry went on, a soul wrenching sound until it abruptly stopped, along with howl of thea sandstorm. In the brief silence that followed, the mage raised his head and stared at the man, his eyes frantic. "You have to run, I can only hold it back for a few moments. Go to the Mage's Guild, Dominic, Linn, anyone. Tell them the Sand Wyrm is waking, please." The mage's voice trembled with panic, forthe as he spoke, the low howl of the sand began again.

Krice was a stoic man, but faced with such suffering and pain in the body and mind of another, even -he- cracked a little. It was in turn painful to watch. The sandstorm howls that shrieked through the treetops only served to intensify the importance of Odhranos' request for help. The resulting earthquake saw him shift his feet beneath him, a stumble expertly saved by trained repositioning of each leg to widen his stance, solidify his balance. Crimson eyes flashed at his surroundings, mostly the earth but also the forest canopy, and when all fell silent once more, those eyes returned to Odhranos. 'Run'. It was something he didn't usually do, as told by his hesitation -to- do so, but the evidence of the mage's sacrifice so that -he- could get away, could pass on the message, was too clear to ignore. With an intensity in his eyes usually reserved for those he trusted - or those he loathed -, the warrior spoke to Odhranos a quiet but firm, " Stay strong. I won't be long," and then he pivoted on a heel. Underfoot, sand spat outward as he launched himself into a sprint, much faster than any normal human should have been able to achieve. His destination was likely the Mage's Guild, as requested by the mage himself.

The mage returned the warrior's firm statement with a grateful nod, not that he wouldnt have thanked him extensively for his help, but that the sheer effort of keeping that wave of malevolent force at bay threatened to break at any moment if the mage's concentration lapsed. When the warrior took off at unhuman speeds, the mage let out a choked breath and collapsed on all fours, panting and coughing bitterly. The stone and earth shivered for a moment, then collapsed into rough piles of rubble around the mage, the wave having not broken. The mage wretched in the silence, his body and mind strained before he felt the angry hissing voice return in his mind. "You have made a mistake, you pitiful grub. But no matter, it will not matter in the end. Now, onward." The mage coughed angrily, then got to his feet and continued as before, stumbling east and south, leaving the torn and sundered earth behind him.