RP:Lanlan Gets The Prettiest Staff

Part of the The Fool's Journey Arc

This is a Mage's Guild RP.

Summary: Iintahquohae visits the Mage Tower bearing a gift for Lanlan, and asks to re-join the Mage's Guild. Lanlan welcomes her return with 'consequences', and shows her where Odhranos' body has been kept.

Mage Tower

This room is huge, and the entire place is covered in blue and white marble, with many torches and eight pillars reaching up to the ceiling to reinforce the room above, and keep the tower standing. The columns are covered in mystical runes, probably magic to keep the pillars strong, making them able to withstand pressure that normally wouldn't be possible. In the center of the room, there is a spiraling staircase made of glass, and also inscribed with the same type of runes as the pillars, leading to the higher levels of this magical tower. Next to the stairs there is a small desk here with a sign on it. At the top the sign reads... directions for all new mages. There is a door to the south, and you now notice that it too, is covered in the strength giving runes, that leads outside and a door to the west leading to the dormitory, a place for young mages to rest after their studies here.

Iintahquohae couldn't resist an amused grin at the sense of deja vu her trek to the Mage's Tower brought on. Instead of toting a batch of crudely made wands when she requested entry into the guild long ago, she shouldered a pack of staves, incomplete when they were 'gifted' to her by Lanlan. Now they were all carved, and stained, embellished, cores hollowed out to tuck in magical enhancements for the wielder. Complete in a sense, and the seamstress hoped that self-imposed marker of completion would be her ticket for re-entry. Her desire to do so was two-fold. First, news of her late husband's potential return brought on a wave of nostalgia. Secondly, that particular wave carried with it the idea that maybe she could try again, now that (at least to her knowledge) Inks didn't have to grapple with hindrances to her magic. Before stepping through the tower's main doors, she finds herself looking over a shoulder toward the horizon, just to check. The Xalious Tree looked good. Her familiarity with the various mages she brushed past was predictably lacking. She didn't know whose attention to grab to see if Lanlan might be in, but maybe she could get his attention. Little ripples, right? Conjuring illusions wasn't her strong suit, but the seamstress tried something small, not at all convincing. Something she knew she could do. After checking that her pack wouldn't slip off of her shoulder, she lifted her joined hands, and pantomimed the fluttering of a butterfly's wings. Like the first markings on a canvas, jagged, blue lines free themselves from her fingertips, aligning themselves into the approximation of a roughed-in butterfly, that begins a slow ascent up the stairs. Presumably to the Archmage's office, whereupon Inks hopes her spell might persuade Lanlan to come down for a chat.

Lanlan is in his office, staring and practically sweating over a large ornate book. THE book. It was time, it had to be. He was worthy now, even Xalious saw that it was true. Still, the book stays closed. He could feel it in his bones, that if this book still refused his eyes to see its pages with their secret and arcane words on them, then he would see the pages in flames. He tricked a god, saved the world, and did things he didn't even know he could do! And then gave up the ultimate prize, what humility. This rejection wouldn't do. Just then a butterfly comes bobbing in through his doorway, and he sees it. "Well now I have to see what this is about." In a moment he's down some stairs, accompanied by Ink's butterfly. He's somewhat grumbly at first, possibly even cantankerous, doing little to hide the breathlessness that descending stairs brings. Until he sees who's here. Cynica's doing their best to delay her, being almost as loud (fashionably speaking) as Lanlan in some earlier years, and trying to coax some swag out of the tailor. "Inks! Do you live?" He pretends to look around for some villain, narrowing his eyes warily. "Who's doing this? Who's playing such a mean trick that they would make me think my old friend was here?" No shadows, no sneaks. Just a tall giraffe of a tailor. He makes sure to show off his coat, THEIR coat, on the jaunty saunter over close to her. He stretches his gait and turns, fanning out his arms as he does. "Do you recognize it?" When it first arrived, it was deep purple, impossibly darker than black. Now it's bright blue, impossibly saturated. It somehow looked... Intelligent. Like it was created out of calculations and equations come to life, perfect geometry present in all it's angles and trim and cuts. He briskly slides it off, turns it inside out in some particular way, and it returns to the impossible shade of cthonic violet. "Eh?"

Iintahquohae was never one to refuse an opportunity to sell something, so she takes Cynica's bait while waiting for Lanlan to come down, if he's there. If her butterfly worked. “Drop by my shop sometime -” Her hands pat at the pockets of her jacket for a little card, presenting it with an unnecessary flourish for Cynica to take. “We've remodeled, and there's a spot in Vailkrin too if you aren't keen on traveling all the way to the coas-” Lanlan's arrival halts her words, and at first the seamstress looks confused. Was he playing, or had it really been that long since she's shown her face...well, anywhere, really? “I'm the real Inks, promise,” she begins, but whatever else she may have had to say is silenced. His coat is -magnificent-. “...I made that?” Why is she even questioning herself? Of course she made it, but its coloring is different. This was the Archmage's work. It had to be. It made the pack of staves she brought along seem like nothing but funny magical sticks by comparison, and the seamstress doesn't mask how impressed she is. “I swear, you never cease to amaze me, Lanlan.” Inks flashes a grin. It feels almost comical to show off what she brought along after his display, but after freeing one of the staves free from her pack, she gently sets the rest of them on the floor and presents him with the fanciest of the bunch. It's either one of the unfinished staves Lanlan gave her or one that she made entirely herself, Inks can't remember, but it's made from birch wood, with the eyes commonly seen on the trunks and branches of those trees carved into to add more detail, make them more prominent. Each 'eye' is set with a different colored gemstone iris, but each pupil is gold. “Remember all of those staffs? I had some free time and...” She taps the butt of what she's decided to call the disorienting eye-staff (it's tipped in gold, of course) against the floor. Much like her attempt at an illusory butterfly, the manner in which that particular staff causes the marble flooring to undulate and ripple as if it were liquid is definitely very unconvincing to a proper illusionist. Like dye pigment dropped into a container of water, strands of blue, conveniently a shade to match Lan's coat, spiral out of the staff, transforming the floor at their feet and a foot or so beyond them into a depiction of a sunny sky that felt sturdy enough to walk on without a worry of falling. “What do you think? It'll be ages before I'm like you, but,” the staff is lifted from the floor, and with it, the 'window' to the sky closes, turning the marble back to normal. She offers the staff to Lanlan. For keeps. “Thought you might like it a little.” She's crossing her fingers that he does.

Lanlan slides the coat off again so she can admire her own craftsmanship. "Of course it is! I know. You made it in a fit of passion and despair and maybe it was wrong of me to take advantage of that... But look! It was at least a little bit worth it. I think when it's my turn to go I'm even gonna leave it for the next archmage. My own little contribution to the guild." How magnanimous. Then it's his turn to look at the staff she's the most proud of. "A thing of beauty..." he says, admiring its pretty eyes. When she touches it to the floor, he goes along with the illusion even if he can see through it. "Oh!" He delicately tiptoes over the ripples, lifting up one foot at a time so it can pass under, and then cautiously stepping down again as if he might sink. Then he laughs, easily. He's been laughing more lately, he's lighter than usual when he's out of his office. "And potent too," he remarks, bracing his eyes against her fabricated sun. "May I?" If he may, he'll hold the staff in each hand, careful not to blind any of the sparkling eyes, and then whip it around deftly, gathering up dust and breezes and shadows and churning them into a more complex illusion. For a moment, there's clouds settling around them, the ceiling falls away into a distant ground, and the sky from Ink's illusion stretches around them until they're swallowed whole. They might even feel the wind from the endless sky if they allow themselves. Then he'd hand it back, and the vision would dissipate, reality bleeding back. "It's beautiful, it's intuitive, maybe a little willful... It's perfect for you Inky. You should be proud." Then there are stars in his eyes. "Wait it's not... For me is it?" He asks, almost as if he was too afraid to hope.

“More than a little bit worth it,” Iintahquohae is floored. Thrilled. The mere thought of something she had a hand in making being passed down to another archmage is more than enough for the seamstress's heart to swell with pride. Lanlan's reaction to the handiwork of her staff is a shock too, even if she's perceptive enough to see he's playing along. Inks got a laugh out of him, and that was better than nothing at all. “Yes, please!” When the staff is out of her hands, she takes a step back to observe a master of illusions at work. It's so utterly convincing – it's too real, and even if the seamstress knows that they aren't suddenly midair, poor Cynica and Lanlan as well get to witness something so rarely seen from Inks. Nervousness. Not quite fear, but her hands immediately grab at Cynica's arm in effort to find something grounding. She's flown before – hundreds of times by now, but unexpected weightlessness was off-putting. Is her hair blowing in the wind? Brown eyes leap from Lanlan to the sky above, below, and around them, and in a blink, it's gone. Her death grip on Cynica's arm loosens, and she makes a show of trying to straighten out the poor woman's sleeve while mumbling an apology to her. But then her attention resettles on Lanlan as he tries to return the staff to her. “Of course it's yours!” It suited him better, and he clearly had a mastery over its intended use in a way that she didn't. “I made more...” Where'd that pack go? She stoops to grab it, surprised at herself for not stumbling over it moments before, and tugs out another, differently designed staff. “I had fun making them and it made me think of all this.” Her arm makes a sweeping motion, indicating the tower as a whole. That particular staff wasn't a bribe, truthfully, but she could definitely see how it might be viewed that way. The bag of other staffs were the bribe, if Lan wanted to take them. “Lan, I left on bad terms and I caused a scene,” she bluntly admits. “I'm sorry for that. ...What steps would you have me take to come back?” There had to be steps. Actions had consequences, right? Probably some Olric the Just saying, but she'd accept whatever consequences there might be.

Lanlan tries not to show his pride when he sees Inks clutch Cynica nervously. In fact, they hug each other when the world falls away from them. "Oh! I'm sorry about that! Just a little showing off, I couldn't help it!" Then they separate from there somewhat awkward embrace. Lanlan holds the staff close to his chest and quickly finds the most comfortable way to grip it, even taking an extra moment to observe it's particulars, now that it's his. By now he's got his coat back on, and suddenly it seems like something that's always been his; a set. "I'll treasure it, like everything else you make for me." It's true, and he taps its ferrule on the floor, ending the sentence with authority. The most perfect gift, though, comes in her asking to return, but he pretends otherwise, adopting a stern look. "Ah, so you want to come back. The cost will be steep, then, loyalty and trust can't be bought with a simple piece of wood. Come with me." He would guide her away from Cynica's eyes and ears, taking several steps away. "They bought it, I'm sure. Anyway, what's a little temper tantrum between friends? Oh and it's not just a simple piece of wood. I love it, truly." He of course never has tantrums, his anger is always righteous. "It's okay! you were grieving, and you found out your husband's body was being kept from you. Of all people! I understand and I don't hold it against you." He had to ingratiate himself a little more, though, even if it was somewhat misguided. "It was me you know, who had him brought home, in the end. So you see, I do get it." Still, appearances were everything, and Cynica in particular couldn't be allowed to see him going easy with someone. "I'll come up with something for books, don't worry." Then he clears his throat and loudly exclaims, "No. I'm sorry but there simply must be consequences. Everyone has to earn their place here, and I wouldn't give you a task you couldn't handle, as impossible as it may seem now. If you truly want to return, this is what it costs."

Iintahquohae didn't typically hug strangers, but this...wasn't too bad. Very odd given the circumstances, but Cynica seems alright. “You could create entire worlds with what you do,” Inks can't help saying, still marveling over his magic. “Have you ever tried?” She isn't trying to butter him up on purpose, honest. Illusions were just fascinating. Her expression shifts to one of wonder to something much more serious, when he describes the cost for re-entry being steep. She wonders just how steep, but nods curtly, accepting whatever her fate might be. It's something that she knew she deserved. “Understood.” After an oddly sheepish, parting wave to Cynica, the seamstress follows the Archmage's lead. Her expectation definitely not what she receives – Inks thought he might be taking her out of earshot to give her an earful and some difficult task to gain re-entry. Instead, she's pleasantly surprised. They're friends, sure, but she never would have thought Lan could be so forgiving. It's a relief, and that relief is shown on her face. Even more still when he divulges where her late husband's body is. “He's here-” she blurts, but quickly recovers. Gratitude first, and that gratitude is genuine. “Thank you, Lan...You're incredible.” It's a little late, but she finally catches onto the Archmage's game, and adopts the appropriate role. Guilt-stricken (genuine, but a bit exaggerated now), she feigns a startled shriek at Lan's commanding tone. He certainly ruled Xalious and the Guild with an iron fist, didn't he? Inks is terrible at stuttering, but hopefully it's passable. “I-I...Y-yes, Archmage Lanlan. I'll do what-wh-whatever you ask.” Something with books sounded like an excellent fit for her. “I know a bit about bookbinding,” she offers, in a hushed tone for him to hear. She'd make a decent enough librarian.

Lanlan rests his eyes in satisfaction, "I have dreamed of countless worlds beyond anything I could ever hope to see in this one." It might sound like a sarcastic jest to some, but he meant it literally. He doesn't elaborate. Instead he pivots toward the subject of her husband, and turns in a slightly different direction for them to walk. Ultimately it leads to a broom closet-his old office. "He is here! I meant for you to see him whenever you wished... Would you like to see him now?" He opens the door. The way is somewhat treacherous broom handles and mop sticks crisscross making an obstacle course. "It's a false wall at the back, stairs right behind." He'd go first, just to let her know what he means. After he maneuvers past the trip hazards, he disappears seamlessly into the wall, and it ripples, not unlike the trick Inks did with the floor some moments earlier. Then he sticks his face back out. "See?" Up those stairs, they'd find a secret room, devoid of any light but the magical ones; a hovering splash of luminescent jellyfish, undulating gently in the open space. There's hardly more in this room than a large fluid filled glass tank. And a single chair propped next to it. "I think someone sometimes sits next to him and asks for advice. Or maybe they just talk to him." says Lanlan. Inks doesn't know how many people know of this room, he could be talking about anyone. Of course, when he sees through the glass and into the tank, he's frozen. He can't even speak.

Iintahquohae is at a loss at how to respond, and wonders if it's best not to when Lanlan doesn't elaborate. It must be something very personal that he let slip out. She follows the Archmage's lead, finding familiarity in the path he leads her down. Odhranos' old office. It brings a solemn smile to her lips. This was where it all started. Once inside, she closes the door behind them and wordlessly observes how Lanlan navigates the room before mimicking him. At the false wall, she takes a breath before crossing the threshold. If her heart still beat, the seamstress is certain it would be audibly pounding. She hasn't seen Odhranos, alive or dead since... Her head shakes, willing the thoughts to go away. Can she bear to look? Whether she can nor not, the seamstress is following Lanlan up the hidden stairs right into the secret room. Curiously, her eyes go to the chair first, with the thought that maybe she could sit a while here and just. Look at him. Her eyes move to the tank then. Inks couldn't bear to look at her husband like this, but fixed her gaze upon him – his face, primarily. Lan had already witnessed her look nervous once today, so why not another emotion or two? Tears well up in her eyes, and with them come the guilt, the grief. “I -” No, Lanlan didn't need to be subjected to the words she wanted to say to Odhranos, so she stops herself. Keeping Odhranos' body within her line of sight would inevitably lead to sobbing, so she forces herself to turn away long enough to continue speaking to Lanlan. “Would it be alright if I stayed awhile..? Please.” She's asked for too much already she suspects, given her request to re-enter the guild. “If you have other things to tend to, I can see myself out after...” Well, Inks doesn't know how long she'd sit by that glass tube. “After a while.”

Lanlan understands that she'll want some solitude. He did too, when he was in this room. "Of course, stay as long as you like." He didn't want to try to handle someone else's emotions either, it was too complicated. Open displays of grief are so gauche aren't they? It's best to have it done in private. "This room is sealed. No light, nor sound can escape, and you'll know if anyone else comes through here. The jellyfish," now soft shades of whitish blue, "will change colors if someone opens either door." He leaves then, taking a different set of stairs than the ones they took together, these ones impossibly leading into his own office. It's different once he arrives there, though. She should've seen him long before now, and how has she not? He hadn't told her she could, that's why. Guilt, there was no use feeling it. He abruptly opens the Book and starts scanning its pages, thoughtlessly.