RP:The Illusionist

Gushing Waves, Cenril

The skies over the northern Cenril beaches were azure today, a beautiful clear blue, with not a cloud in sight to mar its perfection. The salt-and-ozone scented winds were warm and gusty, ballooning the sails of out-to-sea vessels in the distance. Here, where the waters lapped the shore in an eternity of motion, there was surely not a more pleasant place for a gull to fly… or a kraken stuck in human form to take his rest upon soft sand, while he mused on aeons past. . Strumming a mandolin resting on his lap, the barefooted man resembled nothing more spectacular than an impoverished beach-bum, all ragged garb and wild mane of demi-dreadlocked hair. The sort of person one would probably, by land or air, simply travel past without much interest, unless to pause and listen to his tune— a haunting and archaic-sounding melody, its notes somehow drifting on the wind for miles around. Until the point where Mcracken began singing… For as his deep bass song erupted into the melody, there was suddenly a shift in the skies! Dark clouds swarmed like oily monsters looking for a feast, sickly yellow lightning flashed and cracked. Surely, no natural squall could be this sudden! And as the song boomed like thunder, across the beach flew a creature so huge and dark that it might just blot out the land below, or the angry sky above, depending on where one was. Chasing this dire shadow were a dozen feather-winged men dressed in shining armors, the like of which have not been seen in the lands for millennia. Magic flared! The shadow exhaled fire! All a bit terrifying, really, and it might take a moment to notice that the figures were ghostly, not solid at all… that the warm winds still blew, the storm wasn’t battering on anything in the real world. Odd, to the extreme.

Sykule was approaching the city of Cenril through the shore, which provided both a pleasant tailwind and a nice view of the ocean. The sun was shining bright, maybe a little too overwhelming to someone who was used to the ever-winter of Frostmaw, but refreshing in it's own way. The weather was perfect and the feathered dragon was lost in thought until he suddenly realized he was surrounded by dark clouds and a strange melody filled the air. He flinched at the sound of lightning and dived to a lower altitude. There was something very wrong with this sudden storm. -The wind was calm, there's lightning, but no rain. And the music...- His thoughts were interrupted by the colossal shadow and the winged men, dashing around him. Sykule's heart was racing and his mind confused, so much that he only realized one of the winged men was flying straight towards him when it was too late to dodge. He braced for impact, though it never came. The winged creature flew straight through him, like a ghost. The dragon decided to calm down, and be aware of his other senses. It was still hot, he could feel the sun's rays, and the salty breeze of the ocean was still in the air. - The music! - He started to search for the source of the mysterious song, and caught a glimpse of the shabby man with playing some kind of instrument. He landed on the warm sand, with the constant ocean breeze making his feathers flutter slightly. The dragon carried a simple leather bag strapped to his side, and had a long scarf around his neck. He decided to approach the man, carefully, until he was sure he appeared to be harmless, as it seemed he was simply watching the chaotic battle on the sky. He would not dare to interrupt the bard, so he stood somewhat near him, watching his performance.

Mcracken let the battle hymn fade off… there’s just some songs that should not end abruptly, and this was one of those. As the scene it had summoned drew a real dragon down from the sky Mac was intensely puzzled, for a moment mistaking the feathered saurian for an element of that ancient epic somehow gone awry, unprecedented! The great black dragon and his foes faded like figures of smoke into the wind as the song came to end, and the kraken turned his human-shaped face toward Sykule. His gaze was perhaps a little unsettling… and not only for its mismatched nature, a sea-green eye partnered with one the blank hue of a white pearl, nor for the intense scrutiny this lowly minstrel was giving the newcomer. There was just .. something.. about this man, that would raise the down-feathers or hairs on anyone’s neck. Yet, he did not rise or gesture or speak in any way that could be interpreted as threatening. Mac laid his mandolin aside, stood and raised a hand in greeting – fingers splayed, revealing webbing between the digits. “I hope I didst not startle thee, stranger,” he said, his voice deep in timbre, oddly soothing in tone. “The ancient tales are oftwhiles .. lively.” Okay, that was cryptic.

Sykule watched as the spectacle in the sky slowly faded away, and the scenery returned to normal. He approached the man with a rather childish sparkle of curiosity in his big, grey eyes. The man was surely a strange sight, and there was something about him that felt not quite right, he did not smell like a human either, something about him reeked of the sea. His strange webbed hands only made the dragon more curious about him. "Greetings, friend. I hope I didn't interrupt your song either, that was impressive. My name is Sykule." The dragon spoke telepathically towards the man. Sykule stood taller than humans, though he was still young and small for a dragon, so he sat down to talk to the man more evenly. "Forgive me if I'm being inconvenient, but you said it was a tale? Who was that black dragon and the winged men?"

Mcracken did not seem fazed at all about the feathered dragon’s telepathic mode of speaking, though would reply in the more conventional, audible way, a scant smile bending the corners of his mouth, “Ah, thou hast interest in the ancient stories? That tale was of a mighty dragon Lord, defeated by an avian General, in the age when both races were new, and the conflict between them also, a war which would continue for many thousands of years…engendering a great many songs..” Mac interrupted himself with a shake of the head, his dreadlocks swaying, “My pleasure to meet thee, Sykule. Thou mayest call me by ‘Mac’, as many do here.” He went silent then, his gaze roaming the white saurian’s form as though looking for something. At length, he said, “Thou art learning to be a trickster-mage, if I make no mistake?” As if the man could see right through Sykule, somehow.. “A weaver of tales, in thine own way.”

Sykule would have gasped, if he had been in human form. Instead, he just blinked twice, and slightly opened his maw. "Indeed, I am. Mister Mac. Tales of old are a passion I hold dear, perhaps in hope of one day weaving my own." Sykule knew of people who could sing, and people who lived through their music, but he had never personally met a bard, and this one was clearly powerful. The dragon raised his head to the sky, gazing the place where the massive black dragon once soared. "Though unfortunately I am still a long way from being a skilled illusionist. My magic can be shaped to create visual illusions on a much smaller scale than yours. But I've never heard of someone who could use songs to create them, you're clearly no ordinary man."

Mcracken chuckled, a sound rather like something hard being scraped against the hollow, timber belly of a ship – a sound no human would ever, nor ever ought to, make. “That thou art also perceptive is plain enough,” Mac lowered himself to the sand again and gestured for the dragon to settle down, also. “If thou hast a moment to lend me, I wouldst very much like to observe what illusory talents thou hast learned. If a brief display is not too forthright a request from such a... recent... acquaintance?”

Sykule tilted his head at the sound of Mac's chuckle. Strange indeed, but not the strangest thing he had seen the man do today. He then stood up and sat on his hinderlegs, leaving both his hands free. "Very well, I can show you a few tricks. Practicing is always useful" He wasn't in a hurry to reach Cenril anyhow, and a dragon's prideful nature wouldn't allow it to turn away an opportunity to prove himself. The dragon closed his eyes and concentrated, with his claws held together. A small sphere of pure light appeared between his claws, and expanded slowly before changing form. The light started stretching itself, and slithering along the dragon's arm, taking on a more concrete form along the way. Soon, it had the head the long body of a snake, which climbed upon the dragon's shoulder. It paused there for a second to gaze at Mac, before sprouting two pairs of wings and flying off into the air, gliding in circles around the two. The dragon opened it's eyes and exhaled, before turning his head up to watch the little couatl fly around."I can also bend the light around it, making something invisible" The couatl vanished suddenly, just as Sykule finished his sentence, before reappearing on another place."I could also manipulate light to make it appear to be where it isn't, or make copies, but I still find it quite hard to create new images out of nothing."

Mcracken watched the demonstration intently, his face bereft of expression save for a faint upturn of his mouth when Sykule created the little couatl, and a rather pointed look directly toward the illusionist himself, on utterance of the word ‘invisible’. When the show was completed, Mac nodded approval, “Magic sings around thee with far more power than it sings within, at present,” he observed quietly, as if to himself, “Thou hast far to go, little dragon, and many songs to weave.” There was another long pause, more scrutiny, and then the kraken spoke again, “Thy talents are such that they couldst be of great help to me, indeed they may aid in the saving of many lives. If it happens, that is, that thou art of a mind to be hired by a stranger. There be rich reward indeed in it, if such a task is agreeable to thee…” He left the offer dangling there, like a wiggly worm on the end of a hook.

Sykule raised his arm and allowed the couatl to land and wrap it's tail around his wrist, still concentrating to maintain the illusion, and then looked at the man sideways with one of saurian eyes. He did not expect the stranger to ask for his help. "It is an unusual request, but I couldn't simply ignore a plead to save lives. I would like to know more, though. What would you need my help with, Mister Mac?"

Mcracken swept one long-fingered, webby hand toward the south, “A creature… most likely a dark-elf, hath lain upon yonder castle a terrible curse, which poisons all things that approach it, killing man and beast alike who doth wander close. It is my sworn task to vanquish this wretch, and dispel the god-curse it has summoned.” His brows were drawn down, hanging like a couple of storm clouds over the eerie glint of his eyes, which were fixed on Sykule, “What I would ask of thee, given that thou canst cast illusion competently, is to gather information.. Its race is all I know, and that it is evil. But in addition, there be a name wrung from the creature’s throat, ‘D’Artes’. I feel sure that subtle eyes trained upon the wretch’s haunts would reveal its habits, that I may better know what it is, precisely, that I am dealing with.” He let that sink in for three beats of a trio of hearts, and then went on, “Dangerous work, for this is no mere apprentice of darkness.”

Sykule tilted his head slightly as he listened to his account. Dark-elf, a Drow. "D'Artes". He closed his eyes, as if to recall all he knew about the Drows, and a low, deep sound came from his throat. They were treacherous and cunning, and were recently at war with other elves, many of which took shelter in Frostmaw. Given that his target is possibly an important (and dangerous) person, it's possible one of his old enemies might have a clue about him. He might be able to get information if he pulls the right strings around. But then, there are two ways he could approach the drow. Sykule might do it stealthy, without the drow's knowledge, using his magic and skills to infiltrate his lair and find out what he could, which would be very very risky. Or maybe he could use whatever he learned about the Drow to get closer to him, and then spy on him from his back, with the help of his magic. The dragon opened his eyes, and then dispelled his illusion, getting down on all fours."I see, it's not an easy task at all, I can see why you would require help. I fear I would need to prepare for days, maybe weeks, before I was ready to face this challenge. I cannot promise you I will be able to do what you ask of me, but I promise I will try. Is there any way I could contact you from far away? I might not be in Cenril for long and this is a matter that should be discussed further."

Mac nodded slowly, drawing from out his rags a smooth coral-and-green shell, its swirls and colors oddly fascinating. He rummaged up a bit of string and threaded the shell to it, then offered this out the feathered saurian. “Whene’er thou listen to any ocean-shell, thou wilt hear the sea. But whisper to this one, and the sea will hear thee, instead.” He waited for the exchange to be completed, and spoke again, quietly, “All that thou hast said is agreeable, but only for the aspect of time.. For as lives are in peril, and daily lost, the need for haste is paramount.” As though suddenly called out to sea, the kraken snapped his strange gaze toward the waves and pushed himself to his feet. “Needs be I must leave thee, Dragon. It is my fervent hope that we meet again.” Without waiting for a reply, he made a hurried pace toward the shore, and waded out until no more of him could be seen.