RP:The Mages' Guild is You

This is a Mage's Guild RP.

Part of the Lies Within Us Arc

Summary: The Guild is gathered once more, to unify under the symbol of Xalious' favour. A new leader is chosen and the stage is set for the final confrontation between the Ossian Order and the Mages Guild of Xalious.

Ginger Snapped Bakery and Sweetshop, Cenril

Khitti || Unlike last time, Khitti didn’t provide any means of being sneaky for this meeting. The bakery was still well enchanted from prying eyes and ears when it was needed and right now, she didn’t have the energy to care. The tables and chairs had even remained where they were for business hours, though she did take care at least to shut the curtains. Khitti looked uncharacteristically weary as she took a seat at a random table. There was none of her signature dark make-up, though dark circles beneath her eyes made up for the lack of eyeliner, and her hair was somewhat tamed by the half-hearted braid she’d managed on the way from the Tranquility. Even her state of dress was a little lackluster than usual. There was no dress as was her usual. None of the dark shades of purples or greens she loved to wear. Instead it was pants, a drab-looking blue button-up shirt, and a black cardigan. It was also rather unlike her to not have some sort of food out for people, yet there was none. If anyone wanted something, they’d be allowed to raid the shop’s cases and the kitchen. Khitti didn’t care right now. “We have someone new coming that wants to try to help,” she said, if Caltarok had not shown up just yet. If he had, something more appropriate and similar would be said. Caltarok would be motioned to half-heartedly, so as not to bring -too much- attention to the new guy. “I brought Caltarok into the Mage’s Guild recently. He’s also in the Warrior’s as well. I’m taking him on as a student and trust him.” Yes, Khitti did get that oath stone Caltarok had sent her. She had it on her person even now, tucked away into a pocket of her dress. It had been almost like a breath of fresh air, after having been lied to for months. Now that her, and Brand’s, memories were back, she needed -something- to cling to, even if it was just a magic stone from someone she barely knew. Once she’d said that, she went quiet again, her attention on the floor, until it was time to bring up that ritual her and Quintessa had done some time ago.

Caltarok having received Khitti's directions about the meeting and some of the background for the meeting turned to his sprites to formulate a plan. Caltarok had all plans and purposes to arrive at the meeting, but not with the stalker that had been beaten back by Gevurah and the sprites. After a few hours of deliberating it was decided, Slyphrena would direct the mana from Caltarok and use Pyra to create living mirages which would scatter in the forest and into the town of Cenril with body heat patterns similar to Caltarok. Then under another veil, Slyphrena would warp the air around Caltarok to blind any onlookers. However, they realized this would tap Caltarok's reserves more deeply than anything as a portion of the energies normally he could access tied up holding his transformation. Having committed to the plan, they began first my calling forth a minor mist screen to hide the actions being performed. Moments after the mist covered the campsite, the clones of Caltarok went outwards with the mist swirling around each of the four to five clones. Caltarok and the sprites watched in silence as the assassin moved into the dissipating mist taking account of the all the footsteps of the campsite in confusion before finally taking off after one of the quickly retreating clones. Slyphrena followed after them for a few feet to ensure the assassin would not double back immediately. Only when the wind sprite was certain did she return to Caltarok to begin the next phase of the plan and assist Caltarok in leaving the campsite without a trace. Having eluded the assassin for the time being and knowing the mirages would fade away after a mile and half from the location of the casting kept his guard up while entering Cenril city. Already, he had fought twice outside these walls and he wasn't sure what kind of reception he was going to get meeting the other mage members without Khitti being present. But true to his oath given to her and his thirst to learn; he arrived at the bakery without incident. Rather than just walking in to a few arcane bolts or fireballs or whatever other magics the guild members would have at their disposal; he decides to play it safe and knock on the bakery door while stating under the impression that Khitti was unable to attend, "Hello Odhranos . I am apprentice to Khitti and was given notice to come here tonight".

Kasyr has been pretty absent from the lands for the past few weeks, having made a pair of arduous journeys that would have essentially complicated not only the prospect of tailing him, but actively intervened in his ability to be scryed on in the latter case. Frankly, it was a minor miracle he'd even freed up in time to see the note and get on track to arrive. Which- is likely why he winds up bit later to arrive. For those who are looking forward to the antics which normally accompany his arrival, they're apt to be dissapointed- since the Kensai merely ambles into the baker, and finds a seat to collapse into Asap. The whole, 'looking a bit like death warmed over' bit has likely dampered his sense of the dramatic. That, and whatever preceding adventure had resulted in his trenchcoat leaking dust like a punctured sandbag.

Lanlan :: A rhythmic tapping on the door of the bakery heralds Lanlan, and before anyone can even turn the knob? The door opens itself. The illusionist steps through the threshold, disappointed to find the place is still business ready. He’s dressed in his retro style, just for the event. He can’t believe how tacky he used to be! It’s bleach white pants, a midnight black shirt comfy cotton. He’s wearing actual stockings striped purple and white! But the worst thing of all, is the nearly shredded violet cloak clasped around his shoulders by an admittedly still trendy ruby brooch. “Excuse me,” he says to Khitti, “but we’ll need the space.” He taps his cane on the floor, a subtle gesture directly designed to hide the amount of magic and effort he was about to expend. But when he did, a pulse passes through all the tables and chairs not currently being used, and they animate! Instantly they scurry to the furthest reaches of the room, bending their usually stiff wooden legs fluidly to walk. With remarkable efficiency they stack themselves in front of all the windows, almost like a cheap barricade. From behind him, there’s another knock on the door. He doesn’t even look, just gives his cane a gentle turn in its direction. The door opens again, and a massive podium of heavy polished wood floats ponderously through the door. Not sure where to put it just yet, he leaves it at the front desk. “Odhranos will decide what to do with it,” he tells himself and anyone else. Then he lights up a cigarette and stands against the corner. A bit disappointed at the choice of locale. But consistency was important for what they had planned. Maybe the most important.

Valrae , ever one to arrive fashionably late, enters the bakery with windswept hair and rushed apologies. She’d covered her face in a silk mask of verdant green to match the dress she’d chosen for the night. Her coat was long and fine, the wool dark plum and ending below her knees. Because the cursed, endlessly cold wind still plagued Cenril she also wore a scarf and a bright pair of colorful mittens. “Fynn was impossible to put down,” She offers by way of explanation, to anyone who was near enough to listen. She shook out of her coat and sat aside the scarf, mask and mittens, a purse that might have been larger than a bull terrier. Underneath the coat she wore a figure hugging silk sheath dress that stopped mid thigh, the back low and connected to the long, wide sleeves reminiscent of a short cape. The witch noted Khitti’s uncharacteristic state but was careful to hide the frown of worry that followed the observation. This concern was extended to Kasyr as well, who also looked worse for wear and unlike himself. Valrae took a moment to greet them both and welcome the newcomer as well before she chose a table and began unloading her purse of the ritual items. She worked around Lanlan’s showy magic, even offered him a warm smile that held none of the animosity she usually reserved for him. She had a small cauldron, candles, herbs, crystals. This was a matter of mages, true enough, but she would bring her tools, her heritage into what they created tonight as well. Just as she would no longer hide behind the disguise of Grace, Valrae would no longer hide that the craft was a vital source of her power. So, armed with her tools and her newfound honesty, the witch busied herself with readying the room while waiting for Odhranos and the rest of the gang to arrive.

Iintahquohae ;;; The door creaks open with a push of Iintahquohae's free arm, while the other is extended to the terramancer walking beside her. “We're here,” she murmurs to Odhranos before stepping through the entryway. “Mind your step here,” she adds. She keeps her steps deliberately in line with his, partially in effort to not feel as if she is leading him along and partially to keep him close by. Her head is tilted to his ear, describing the scene as individuals arrived to the bakery with a lowered voice. The seamstress' face is expressionless, with dull brown eyes darting the room to make sure she doesn't leave details that may be important for Odhranos to know, giving small waves with her gloved hands to those she recognizes. She dresses similarly to the terramancer, though her broadcoat is a slightly more feminine cut. The fabric is just a hair darker and dusted with equally darker needlework. Her curls have been tamed with braids to keep it out of the way. Sacred has manifested itself over her boots, fashioned into a pair of black, serpentine-engraved greaves that she preferred over the scimitar as of late. She guides him to the podium Lanlan summoned, and with some reluctance, she removes herself from contact with Odhranos to retreive a chair for herself beside the podium, but set back a bit so attention fell to him instead of her. Iintahquohae settles down in her seat.“I'll be right here if you need anything,” she whispers to him, before falling back into her role as a quiet observer for the time being.

Odhranos enters the bakery on Iintahquohae's arm, doing his best to keep his head high and his shoulders square. He dips his chin briefly as he is warned about the step, carefully navigating the terrain with the seamstresses help, then raises his head again. Odhranos cuts a dramatic figure, outfitted in finery of Oohjmaeyik make. A broad-shouldered topcoat trails bold slate coattails that suggest the drama of a cloak, while his steel-grey waistcoat brandishes silver needlework in a motif of vinework, spreading across the terramancer's chest. Twin bolts of polished steel at his cuffs catch the lights where he holds Inks' arm, and his severe black dress shoes beat a confident pace as he is lead into the room. Gone is the softness of grey cotton, tonight Odhranos is dressed in severity and martial composure. Lastly, and perhaps most strangely, Odhranos' eyes are covered, hidden by the satin fabric of a Provost's sash, tied about his head like a mask. A testament to his trials at the hand of Haladavar. Odhranos lets Inks' lead him to a suitable vantage point, where he turns his head to listen to the slowly growing clamour. The presence of familiar voices in the cacophony brings a smile to his face, but it is a smile measured with grim anticipation of the address he will soon have to deliver. One unfamiliar voice takes him by surprise and he turns in the direction of Caltarok. "Ah! then it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Caltarok." Odhranos offers a hand in what he assumes to be Caltarok's direction for them to shake. "You'll excuse my poor aim, I hope." He laughs good naturedly, grasping the apprentice's hand firmly if it is taken. He then whispers to Inks, asking to be led to their host, upon which he crouches before Khitti, levelling her with a grateful smile. "Inks filled me in on all the help you've given our friends and colleagues. I know it's only words, but thank you. Your kindness is a blessing." Odhranos' smile crinkles the fabric of his sash, suggesting the hint of crow's feet, then he stands once again, turning back to face the growing hush of the crowd. "I suppose we should begin then." He murmurs to himself. "No point in wasting more time."

Lanlan finds Kasyr and attempts to walk casually over to him. He manages to do it with an even enough cadence, but the flaring nostrils and unblinking eyes tell a classic story of ire to those familiar enough with Lanlan. “You’re back,” he says accusingly. It’s been days since Kasyr and Gevurah left on their ridiculous, ill advised, foolhardy journey. Lanlan echoed these sentiments in the Matron’s ear endlessly. Yet she went. And disappeared. “Where is -she-?”

Khitti just shrugged at Lanlan as he moved things out of the way. Do whatever, bro. Khitti doesn’t care right now. She offered a nod to both Valrae, Inks, and Caltarok in acknowledgement -- Lanlan would’ve gotten one too but he got the shrug instead. Though he couldn’t see it, Odhranos was given a faint smile and a nod, and a whispered ‘you’re welcome’. Khitti couldn’t manage anymore words at the moment. She actually looked like she might cry and she was not the type to do so in public. As everyone else was somewhat distracted, she sniffled a little and wiped at her eyes before attempting to pretend it didn’t happen.

Kasyr gets a look akin to a frog catching in his throat when Lanlan begins ambling over, and uses the time it takes for the drow to arrive to fish out a hankerchief from trenchcoat pocket. Holding up a finger, he let's out a few grotesque sounding coughs, before cramming the cloth back into his pocket. "Et here I thought it had been something like a week or so. Not very attentive, are vous?" Kas, do you have to? The lopsided smirk really helps to drive the needling home, though the swordsman does feel the compunction to add, "She's well enough. Better off than moi, j'imagine." There's -almost- the temptation to mention Daath, but- as much as the thought broadens the smirk, he manages to restrain himself from that bit of provocation.

Kasyr said to Valrae, "C'est un plaisir de vous revoir."

Lanlan squints his eyes, “Who is not very attentive? Speak common I know you can.” Lanlan is very attentive. So it must not be him. However he is slightly mollified. “Well,” he says with a sigh of relief. “That’s good.”

Caltarok smiles nervously to Odhranos as he takes the fellows hand to shake, "Certainly and thank you for allowing me to be here." Caltarok takes account of the others that are in the room before finding a seat in a corner. With his magical prowess nearly spent for the time being, he sponsors a slight headache. His friend, Slyphrena flitters about for a bit worriedly over Caltarok before he waves her off. He needed to keep half his attention for now on the meeting and the other half holding his constant spells that normally wouldn't require any attention. Muttering under his breath, "I hope it a while before I see the matron or the assassin again." He begins to dig into his bags for anything to help him out find some relief.

Kasyr gets a very different look when Lanlan squints- like he's trying very hard to maintain a neutral expression all of a sudden. It's enough to warrant a change of topic. "I could speak in drow, if that would help get the point across." Still, the illusionist seems to relent, so the swordsman decides to do so as well, "Word to the wise, though. Avoid any gifts with snake imagery in them. I think she's had her fill of them." Stupid, goddamn cultist city.

Valrae sends Kasyr a playfully flirtatious smile. She hasn’t a clue what was said to her. “You’ve looked better, handsome.” Her tone was playful and gently concerned. “Juniper says hi.”

Quintessa seems to arrive unnoticed, alass, she was already here. One of the patrons of the bakery sits alone, a black cloak obscuring her form and an equally pitch mask covering her face. She was suspicious of Odhranos’ message and arrival, unsure if he was the real man or an impostor. After not seeing him for six months Quintessa couldn’t prove if he was simply hiding, doing his normal day-to-day tasks now that he was free, or if he was here to capture the fugitives that have escaped the O.O. and Hal’s justice. After a moment of consideration, the cloaked changeling stands and makes her way over to the group, dropping her hood and pulling her mask away from her face. “I’m here.” She announces as she joins them. “Magikrios sends his regards.” Quintessa looks in better shape than the last time they had met here, her face painted a pale white and dark circles drawn around her eyes that came to points across her cheeks, ending just before her jawline. “I haven’t missed anything, have I?” The question seemed redundant. Of course she had been paying attention.

Odhranos releases his grip on Inks’ arm and steps forward to where the podium stands. Holding his head upright, the greying man straightens his back and strides onward. The smooth silk of his violet Provost’s sash catches the light with a silvery reflection, defining where it lies taut against the bridge of his nose and casting the hollows of his eyes into a deep indigo. His hand gropes for the edge of the podium, flinching when it is found before gripping it tightly for stability. Odhranos steadies himself, then clears his throat, beckoning the crowd to listen. He holds his head high and speaks for what seems like the first time in years. “Members of the Guild, I need to preface this with an apology. I can no longer see you with my own eyes, so I ask that you excuse me if I fail to comprehend the faces you will undoubtedly be making" Odhranos pauses to let that statement sink in before he continues; "I cannot answer the anger that you will undoubtedly feel, but I have to say what needs to be said. No matter what you might think of me for it.” Odhranos takes a measured breath, before he steels himself for what is to follow “We are gathered here today for one reason. That reason is that I have failed you. All of you.” With his declaration of guilt, the terramancer seems to rally himself, taking strength from his admission of failure. “I pushed when I should not have. I dredged up that which should have remained buried. But all of these pale in comparison to when I turned away when I should have stood up for you. You; my friends; my family.” Odhranos’ brow furrows and he forges on with his speech. “I let the darkness in and when I was called upon to face it, I turned with my tail between my legs and left. Leaving Haladavar in control, where he could twist and turn the world against you. You have lost your home, your security and many of your friends and loved ones because of my failure. In truth, I was a coward.” Odhranos’ tone is level and calm, a far cry from the distressed rhetoric he had presented in the months before his kidnapping. “I do not admit this in hopes of sympathy, or some misguided sense of martyrdom. I admit my failings so that I can come to terms with them, and strive to become better for it.” The indigo pools of shadow turn, staring into the crowd, meeting gazes with an eerie blankness that belays all of the determination Odhranos possesses. “I have gathered you here to tell you that today, I will run no longer. I will face my mistakes, my failings, and I will do what I must to set them right. Come what may, once we part ways today, I am going to take the fight to Haladavar, to take a stand for our Guild. If that takes moving heaven and earth to do so, then so be it, I've made my peace with my demons, all that's left is to end what I started. Once and for all.” Odhranos rounds his declaration with a firm, final note before his face softens, regaining a hint of that familiar smile. “But before I go, I want to ask for your help with something. To ask your help in regaining something that was taken from you, something that is yours by right.” Odhranos spreads his arms and turns, gesturing to the gathering around him. “The Mages Guild is not bricks and mortar, nor is it land, or any material wealth. The greatest library in Lithrydel is just that, a library and nothing more. It is not our Guild. The Mages Guild is you, all of you, the relationships you have, the bonds that tie you together and the insatiable,beautiful, passionate drive that calls you to understand everything this world holds in search of a path toward a better future. I want you to be able to recognise that for what it is. I want to restore your honour and your identity; as the Mages Guild of Lithrydel.” Odhranos drops his hands and smiles a small quiet smile, before turning back. “Val? If you could elaborate?”

Valrae || After setting up the ritual space, Valrae moves to stand beside Iintahquohae. She offers the seamstress a warm smile by way of quick greeting and folds her hands delicately in front of her as she waits for Odhranos’s signal. Her eyes narrowed on Lan as he and Kasyr exchanged words, wary as she watched the pair of them. What was he up to now? The witch thought in exasperation. It was hardly time. But it was Khitti that caught her eye then. Was that a sniffle? Valrae took a small step forward with concern and a bit of panic painting the lines of her face, but Odh commanded her attention before she could move away to investigate. Blinking back to the task at hand, Val steps backward and listens to the terramancer’s speech. Her red painted lips bow into a frown. The witch understood, of course she understood, why he needed to say the words. And she could hold her tongue, bite back her disagreement for the rest of it in solidarity and support, because that was what was needed of her now. And the pride came easy enough, as he spoke confidently and surely. Like the leader they needed. When he opened the floor to her she stepped forward to address the small gathering. She took a slow look around the room, met the faces of those that represented all that was left of what she considered the true guild of Xalious. “With Odhranos returned to us, the circle that we’ve formed is as whole as it can be. Now is the time to take the first step toward beating back Haladavar and those who have aligned himself with him.” As she crossed the room, heels clicking, she took up the round reading glasses that she’d left beside the cauldron. “Tonight we’ve planned a ritual to take back what was stolen from us. If only in spirit. There is a book, the Archmage’s codex, and with the help of Ialantha and Lanlan, we might have found a way to gain access to it’s secrets.” She looks around the room again. “You’ve all been asked to bring something with you, something personal that represents the guild and your time in Xalious. As mages,” And witches, “We know that all magic requires sacrifice. I willingly and freely give mine, and my time as Grace, with this offering.” Valrae cast the glasses into the cauldron and stepped away again, nodding toward Lan. She trusted him to carry the next part of the ritual.

Khitti listened to Odhranos and crossed her arms over her chest and said what Valrae would not. “Odhranos, this -isn’t- your fault. If it wasn’t -you- that pushed, it could’ve been any one of us,” her tone was stern, though faint. She certainly felt what she was saying was right, but it was hard to really show much emotion at all in the first place. “Things happen, so we deal with it.” It was a motto she often went by, after all the times things were inadvertently her fault (as Quintessa had once told her), but her words lacked conviction. “There’s no time to apologize or place blame. We just deal with it and move on.” Khitti sighed. “But, back to the task at hand. Quintessa and I spoke to Brenwyn -- the real Brenwyn. Or… well, Quintessa did, seeing as how I never met him, before or after Haladavar. I just tried to keep up from getting our asses kicked and sort of failed. Quintessa can be the one to explain it, if needed.” Khitti eyed the cauldron, frowning as she looked to Valrae, “I do not have anything physical to give, unfortunately. My time spent in Xalious took place several years ago, long before I even joined the guild -- around the time I met Odhranos, in fact. He tried to help someone I cared about back then, and the guild itself helped me by letting me use the library so I could figure out my shadow magic on my own. I’ve always been wary of the guild as a whole, but I cannot deny the fact that it has helped me and now I am able to aid those that come to us.” There’s another sigh and a faint apology. She was rambling and she wasn’t even sure if the things she was saying made sense. Khitti shook her head and stood up, holding both hands aloft in front of her. Shadows seeped from the nooks and crannies of the shop, forming a swirling orb between her hands. Next her violet flames lit within the sphere and the grey shadow-ice followed it, the three ultimately swirling together. She concentrated a bit harder and the orb hardened, one hand pushing at the air near it, to send it over to Valrae. “So, I give my own magic -- with interest,” she said, following it up with making a smaller orb of light. This one was much less formed and not at all hardened like the other, though the glittery light magic swirled about with a more pearlescent-looking form. This too was sent over to Valrae in the same fashion before Khitti reclaimed her seat and her silence once more.

Iintahquohae has essentially become Odhranos' shadow, so she remains stationary unless she sees him walk away from the podium. At Valrae's approach while the terramancer speaks, she flashes a grin. It's been a while since she has seen the witch, and everybody else in the bakery, really. When it is Val's turn to speak, Inks' brow raises. What did she have to offer to cast into the cauldron? Her time with the guild, at least from her perspective, was brief and strained. The seamstress's initial intention with joining was to learn to enchant fabric for her shop, along with making wands, so before leaving with Odhranos for the the meeting she pocketed one of the wands she had made, along with a square of cotton embroidered with sigils she had some minor success with. Standing, she retrieves the items from her pocket and approaches the cauldron to toss them in. “Forgive me. It isn't much,” she says to Valrae apologetically, then returns to her seat once more.

Caltarok finally finds some tonic he had bought previously and downs it quickly to restore some of his magic and alleviate the pressure his was feeling from the transformation magic trying to fray on him. The whole Caltarok paid close attention to what the leaders stated. He may not understand the hardships that they faced or the need for Odhranos' apology, but he understood the sense of loss they all might have felt. Having lost all he knew and living away from all sentient beings for most of his life until he could manage changing into a human and learning how to wield a bow. At Val's words and of sacrifice for stood for them as mages and their time in Xalious. He of course was not told by Khitti to bring anything for a sacrifice and as a newly apprenticed mage; he awkwardly stared at the ritual in solemn stillness for a few minutes. Having heard Khitti's own words, he elected to remain where he was keeping his own magic in check. Even the wind sprite registering the solemn atmosphere for what it was took a seat on Caltarok's arm in a form of a young woman with a flowing gown. Looking at her, he speaks gently, "I have nothing that I can provide but my own strength to provide what support where I can in the days to come and with what meager magical talents I already possess."

Kasyr had offered Valrae a cynical, "I've felt better, Cherie." Alongside, "It was fun, until the party died, et revived." That said, there wasn't much room for banter after that, given the meat of the presentation coming from Odhranos. For his part, the Kensai soaks in the crux of the speech dispassionately enough- if only due to an awareness that his own actions had served to intensify the scrutiny those gathered now faced. "That boat wasn't going to burn itself." is maybe not the most tasteful thing to mutter, but- Val's busy with a presentation now. It's fine. Until it's not. For now, however, the Kensai's concern is with what he'd brought along. Specifically, whether the grimly hilarious symbolism of a half empty flask was going to go over well. It would be better, then, to hedge his bets with a quill, of the same sort he'd been using to pen his study on deicide, and documentation on sword-bound sorcery. "Ca suffit, j'pense." And with his offerings placed, he shambles back to his seat, to bask in this motley display.

Quintessa crosses her arms as Odhranos speaks, her face expressionless as he pours his heart out to her and the rest of his colleagues. Had the Arcane Stewardess been judgemental of the Terramancer? Perhaps a little, but only because she had coveted his rank and position, something that was meaningless to her now. His unwillingness to confront Haladavar echoed her own feelings on the matter, so she couldn’t bring herself to call him a coward; he was simply making the most educated choice. Quintessa had been doing the same, when she decided to skip the Celestial Celebration because of the dangers she predicted awaited her. However, when Odhranos begins to speak about restoring honor and identity, she has to stop herself from scoffing. This little ragtag group has what it takes to defeat them? Why is it then that they have to run and hide from the Ossian Order? Quintessa looks away, towards the door that would take her out into the streets. She doesn't look up even as Valrae begins to speak- that is until she mentions something that ignites a spark of curiosity in those mismatched optics of hers. “The Archmage’s Codex?” The phrase is a breathless whisper parroted from the Red Witch. Would this help them decode the secrets of the Robelous rituals? If the former Archmage Tiphareth purged this information, then surely it was in the book he once held. “Yes,” Quintessa confirms what Khitti has just told them. “Brenwyn spoke to me and told me that there are four sources of knowledge to piece together: The Source of The Robelous, The Making of the Seal, The Breaking of the Seal, and The Heart of the Robelous. He told me this, and gave me a parting word of advice: The Ossian Order's strength is our weakness. Turn their weakness into our strength.” Quintessa finishes speaking, her hand moving under her cloak to grasp a fragment of a gemstone. Sharp and crimson, the spindle glimmers in the light of the room. “I offer a heart-stone fragment- A piece of the Dreamscape. May this bind all of our dreams and aspirations for the Mage’s Guild together and strengthen this spell.” She drops the jewel shard into the cauldron and steps away, throwing one last offering over her shoulder. “And, as always, my doors in Vailkrin remain open to those within this room. If you find yourself needing sanctuary or respite, I shall not turn you away.” A smirk is thrown in Lanlan’s direction. “Even you.”

Lanlan leaned back against a wall and brooded silently with a cigarette. He offered one to Kasyr without a word or a look. He could see the effect Odhranos’s words were having on his former guildmates. An effet he could never achieve in a million years! Lanlan, for example, didn’t blame anyone but Haladavar for all this (unless he was weaponizing guilt), but Odhranos assumed responsibility willingly. Lanlan would only do that if he knew it would benefit him. He still thought his way was best. Sharing your feelings publicly like this? So gauche. Khitti had the right idea. Bottle it up, crush it down, until it was time to unleash it. But he couldn’t deny the unifying effect Odhranos’s method had. He’d find another way. Before he knew it, it was his turn to bring up both his and Odhranos’s offering. He puffed the cigarette and handed it to Kasyr, because it would be rude to just throw it on the floor of Khitti’s bakery. When he got to the podium, he noticed something he hadn’t before. An inconspicuous owl, perched on a window pane. It seemed oblivious to anything going on, but very alert to its surroundings. Whatever, now wasn’t the time to deal with it. It could stay and watch. “Hello, former guildmates, fellow exiles. It is so nice of you all to join me.” Lanlan unclasps his tattered violet cloak, shredded long ago under a dragon’s fiery talon. But kept for...some reason. He held one hand over the growing pile of junk and trinkets, and then shook the tattered cloak, demonstrating that it was empty. Nothing concealed within it. Then he channeled magic into it and it hovered above his empty hand, crinkled up into a ball, and evidently became…! A humble tea pot. “We all remember this...uh, teapot. It belongs to Odhranos. I’m sure each of us can remember at least one time when we shared a cup with him, and felt its magic take the chip off our shoulder.” He tilted it up as if into a cup, and poured a small crystal into his hand. “This is my offering. A simple crystal, but upon closer inspection it’s full of complicated history and powerful magic.” The ‘like me’ part of it was implied. “That’s the last one. Now,” he said as he extended his hands outward. “Form a circle.” He sighs exasperatedly and shakes his head a little. “And hold hands…. "We are followers of Xalious, but we aren't a church. Our religion is fact and reason, our prayer theory and logic. Our power is in our curiosity, our creativity, our will. Our tenacity to understand everything there is. I ask that you see the evidence we set before you and see our claim just and correct." It’s clunky, but Lanlan hopes its the force of will that will back it up that will ensure their success. Lanlan steps away from the podium to join the circle and join hands. When he does, he’s like iron. Adamant, not pulling away at their touch. “Now we wait.” In moments, there is a pull, a tether extending to each person, from the objects of great value, sentiment, or power placed in the cauldron. Then suddenly, its all gone. Lanlan opens his eyes and finds that nothing is changed. He clears his throat solemnly, and averts his gaze, abashed. It didn’t work. Above him in the rafters, the weird old owl, the supposed pest in Khitti’s bakery, pushes off from its roost and glides silently downward. With no ceremony, it lands on the podium, and beams its intelligent gaze into each of the magicians surrounding it, before resting on Odhranos. There’s a blinding flash of light, a sudden burst of silver that washes over everyone and everything. The oppressive beams gradually diminish, until there’s just a burning glow atop the podium where the owl was. The light goes out, and in the owl’s place, a book.

Odhranos nods at Khitti's words. He can't meet her eyes, so the best he can do is lower his head and smile. "You're right. Laying blame gets no one nowhere. Time to start dealing with it and moving on." The words feel poignant, mottos often do, and Odhranos casts a smile in the direction of Khitti's chair. As each of his colleagues and friends steps forward to offer their sacrifices, Odhranos finds his chest bursting with pride, as each of them offer something personal, yet weighted with their love for the Guild. It is an emotionally charged moment and Odhranos cannot help the proud smile that spreads across his face. At Lanlan's beckoning, Odhranos steps forward and joins the circle, taking a moment to squeeze Inks' hand as he takes it in his own. He bows his head, and offers his own silent prayer to the God that he has dedicated his life to. The terramancer is broken from his reverie by the brush of feathers and the gust of air as something passes him. His head lifts, and he turns, only to shield his eyes from the sudden glare that sears him. The glare dies, and the unbroken darkness returns, save for a single glow, the only light in Odhranos' darkened world. He steps away from the circle, and approaches the gentle blue light. His hands find the edge of podium and when he reaches for this point of illumination, he finds instead the timeworn cover of a leather bound tome, embossed with a symbol that is familiar to his exploring touch. Odhranos bows his head and whispers quietly to the God he knows to be listening, before he raises his head to the Guild before him. "Xalious recognises our claim. This book is our banner, our standard beneath which we will rally ourselves." Odhranos permits a smile to return to his lips, as he looks out into the dark, picturing the faces of his friends gathered before him. "Xalious recognises his Guild. Now it falls to us to take back our home."

Valrae felt the warmth of appreciation as Khitti stepped forward to say what she’d held back. The witch sends her a private nod of agreeance. Her brow furrowed at the rest, having forgotten that she and Quintessa went in search of answers and the ghost of Brenwyn. Quintessa’s addition darkened her eyes. She turned it over in her head thoughtfully, tired to puzzle together what that warning could mean. Had she herself been that cryptic in death? A funny thought. The witch took the magic Khitti offered up carefully. Delight and wonder shone unbridle on her face as she, regrettably, guided it to the cauldron. “Thank you,” Iintahquohae came forward next. The witch smiled at her with genuine warmth, “It’s everything,” She answered and waited for the next person’s offering. And as it turned out, it was Caltarok offering support. Though it might not have been a tangible thing, Valrae thought the spell and the guild would be stronger for it. “Your support is needed and appreciated.” Kasyr’s flask earned a bubbling laugh, even if the shadow of concern lingered in her emerald eyes as he returned to his seat. Quintessa’s offering was met with a smile as well, one filled with warmth and appreciation. Though there had been little time for talk, Valrae would eventually make time to thank the woman for her aid in Cenril’s south side. She’d make time. And then it was Lan’s turn. She all but groaned at his pageantry, though it was suddenly good natured and in gest. When had she stopped genuinely hating him? Valrae watched him take command of the spell and cast in the final offerings, pushing her power and the power of the crystal skull that was never far from her, up to the ritual. It coalesced in the bakery thickly, crouched around them and charged like a thunderstorm. She thought she heard the sound of feathers in flight, before the owl landed to perch before Odhranos, and then the unmistakable sound of the pages of a book turning. Val shielded her eyes from the wash of silver light, blinking delicately at the sight of the book that now took the owls place. “Only the Archmage will be able to read it,” She informs the room. “Only Xalious’ chosen.” With anxiety and excitement prickling across her skin, Valrae watched Odhranos. Her own smile bloomed as his own took shape. The fragile, tiny stirrings of hope that the witch had felt before now sprang again in her chest. Speechless, she looks around the room to gauge her guildmate’s reactions.

Khitti was hesitant to take anyone’s hand, or touch anyone at all really. She even looked visibly uncomfortable and a frown graced her lips. Khitti was still reeling from the aftermath of getting her memories back and processing all the things Viera had done to her or forced her to do and touch was a rather sensitive subject at the moment. She waited until everyone had joined hands and sighed, ultimately taking the hands of those that were closest and closing her eyes to do her best to bear it. Much like Odhranos, it’s the light that signaled to Khitti of the spell’s completion. She had been praying to Cyris, while the others beseeched Xalious for help. The guild needed freedom. -She- needed freedom from these thoughts that plagued her so. Only days ago, she’d been begging Vakmatharas for Brand’s life in return for any souls she could gather from the Demon Archipelago. Twice in a week, she’d begged for help. It hadn’t been this way since she’d asked the gods for a vampirism cure. And yet, here she was doing so now, begging for another cure of sorts. She withdrew her hands from those she had grasped onto, the urge to wring her own together resisted as much as possible. Instead, she just pulled her cardigan more tightly around her. Khitti listened to both terramancer and witch, offering the two a faint smile in return, in understanding, but remained silent.

Iintahquohae observed the others offer their items to the cauldron, with a bemused grin at Kasyr's flask. She finds herself back to her feet again to join the circle, squeezing Odhranos' hand in kind when she feels his touch while the other is left available to whoever decides to grab it. Without much to contribute prayer-wise, she remains silent, a puzzled expression cast at the owl-turned tome. She turns, and considers following Odhranos back to the podium when he approaches the book resting there. It felt inappropriate for her to do so, particularly after Valrae explained the book. Xalious' chosen, she mouths, casting wary glances to both witch and terramancer. Her hopes were likely similar to Valrae's, but less focused on the Archmage bit and more on whether or not he could read the tome – and potentially, the seamstress hoped, regain his sight.

Caltarok stood in the circle and given his own meager offerings to Xalious. Although Caltarok did not worship Xalious, he did know of and gave great respect to the elder God and protector of knowledge as a dragon. It was one of the few reasons Caltarok stopped oft' at the Xalious tree and took solace under its branches. As a celestial dragon, Caltarok sought knowledge and understanding in all things even in the solitude life that he lived till now. It was one of the reasons he taken to being human after-all… to mingle and learn the ways of the other races. He had not been one to close his eyes and only with Slyphrena's assistance had the bright light prevent any effects to his human sight. Joy and pride filled him to be able to experience and partake of such an event. He looked upon the book that they had called forth in curiosity at first until hearing only the archmage would be capable of reading such a tome. Afterwards he lost all interest, why bother to seek to read something magically bound away from him. Instead he moves to sit once more until called upon knowing his place as an apprentice was to observe and that it was not yet time for action to fight back as he understood everything. He did look toward his teacher, Khitti noting some of the struggle that could be registered through her posture though he didn't know what any of it was about. But for now, as a good apprentice; he only observed and watched until he was given instructions on what would be needed next from him.

Kasyr had admittedly not prepared himself for the fact that he'd wind up in a circle, chain-smoking and holding hands with lanlan. But, here they were. Frankly, whilst the ensuing avian intervention is certainly unexpected- the swordsman isn't feeling all that much trepidation. More of an altogether weary relief that this rite hadn't turned into some ghastly first step in yet another misadventure. Yes- that's right. While there's a genuine sense of awe and hope pervading the room, Kasyr's just happy that he's managed to dodge more work. This definitely parses. "Calice." Some part of him supposes he ought to be more curious about the contents, but if it's meant for Xalious chosen/those of the arch-mage like dispositions, it's apt not to align with his sort of reading material, anyways. "So, now what? I mean, this es a pretty nice banner to rally behind, certainment. I imagine you'll need time to study et digest all that. ...Somehow." Right. That blindfold isn't ornamental is it.

Quintessa joins hands to join the ritual yet she does not pray. A notorious atheist, she does not recognize the gods as the others might. Xalious, like so many other gods or goddesses, never progressed beyond aesthetic following for the changeling. She would attend Delishian rites and practice their magic, but she had no love for Delisha herself. That apathy extended to Xalious as well, only invoking his name when the spell called for it, but as she watches the others with an expressionless mask hiding her emotions, she feels something for the God of Magic; a sense of pride for being able to partake in his divinity. In a lot of ways, practicing magic would be the closest she’d ever get to any god, notwithstanding. Mismatched eyes of blue and hazel flicker up to view Valrae from beneath black lashes, giving her a nod of confirmation at her assessment that only the Archmage would be able to read such a book. Quintessa folds her arms over her chest once they all stopped holding hands, her lips parting to speak her monotonous words. “We’ll, that certainly can’t be me.” Her gaze drifts over to Kasyr, who’s utterance of the word ‘Calice’ catches her attention for a moment. “Perhaps as ‘Xalious’ Chosen’ they will be gifted some sort of innate Arcane Sight. Then again, if all else fails, I could maybe experiment with something a bit more… artificial. I do so love working with eyes.” The only emotion Quintessa was willing to betray tonight seemed to be her usual grim curiosity, as her sapphire and topaz gaze leered at Odhranos from across the room.

Lanlan was at least wise enough to wear gloves, otherwise he might have other people’s sweat soiling his hands right now. There were a lot of humans in this crowd, and they were known (at least by him) to smell. “Congratulations,” he says to Odhranos with surprising sincerity. But also no small degree of disappointment. Does Xalious, almighty, all-knowing Xalious... truly not know how -special- Lanlan is? He turned his gaze away as Odhranos passively lays his claim to the knowledge in the book. Or... was it the other way around? He shrugs. “We did it,” he says, celebrating this tiny and possibly symbolic win. They still had to beat Haladavar, and this was only a small step toward that end. He consoles himself with the knowledge that Odhranos is but a short-lived mayfly, and Lanlan a majestic gray elephant. Long lived and wise and with a beautiful nose, ask anyone. His time would come he tells himself, and silently he does some math. But the jubilation or relief is short-lived, however, as the entire bakery shakes as if from a massive, massive tremor. Confections and chairs fall to the floor. A shockwave, like a sonic boom, emanating from the West. “It seems we aren’t the only ones who made a breakthrough,” he says with a troubling mix of anxiety and anger. He exits through the front doors, and the first thing he sees in the nearly empty streets, is the purple glow reflecting off the dingy cobbles. The few plague-bearers that walk these streets are seemingly enthralled by whatever is lighting up the Western sky. They pose no danger. “What the...” He forms a visor with his hand over his brow, and behold! “That’s coming from Xalious,” he mutters, owing the claim more to intuition and savviness than extreme spatial awareness. “What’s he doing now!” Before their very eyes, they see a growing beam of searing light extending from the world called Hollow, until it slams directly to the moon itself! “Arh’Nuk!? The madman!” The energy scorches canyons into the moon’s surface, altering the topography of it in the process. Lanlan can’t help but see the beginning of a terrible sequence of runes in a far off moon written by the (former) Robelous scribe, of that he had no doubt.

Odhranos trails his fingertips over the aged leather of the Archmage's Codex, still in disbelief of it's presence. The terramancer is wary of lifting his hand, lest the bool dematerialise as suddenly as it came. But something about the soothing glow it exudes calms Odhranos, a familiarity gentle light that reminds him of gently threshing golden leaves and that same calming azure light. He takes a moment to muster his resolve, then eases back the cover. The glow abates, and for a moment Odhranos feels his heart sinking, before small motes of light dance before his eyes. They scatter and jump, then slowly resolve themselves into shapes, then symbols, then script. Odhranos reaches out and feels the smooth surface of paper beneath his fingertips, the glowing script deforms slightly with the pressure of his hand. He runs his index finger down a list of names, each marked in a different hand. Some unfamiliar to him, such as Iskaldor, but others are more recognisable; Rheven, Tiphareth, Svilfon. The names of the past Archmages. Odhranos finger reaches the end of the list and it now dawns on him the weight of what this list is. His predecessors. For a moment, the world seems to bear heavier on his shoulders, the weight of such history threatening to overwhelm him, until Lanlan's cry brings him back to reality. The book is closed with a snap and Odhranos turns, looking about him. "Inks? Where are you?" Odhranos finds his companion, and after being brought to the window and informed what it was he was looking at, he grits his teeth and sucks in a desperate breath. "Then it's begun. Haladavar has played his hand. This is his endgame."

Valrae had found herself in a circle between Khitti and Kasyr. The witch wrinkled her nose at the latter, leaning close to whisper, “Smoking will kill you, you know,” And again she was feeling concerned for both of them. Perhaps especially for Khitti. Even in light of what they’d done here tonight, the woman seemed a shadow of herself. It was a stunning contrast to the fire and kick-your-arse energy that she’d seen the last time they’d held a meeting like this. The witch wondered, as the circle broke away, if she’d be welcome to share that concern though. She shared a look with Iintahquohae, offering her a small smile of faith and reassurance. The witch was certain of few other things in life the way she was that certain Odhranos’ was fated for what was to come next. The witch took a moment to glance at the apprentice and send him an appreciative nod. Quintessa’s look was returned with another smile, as flirty as the one she’d spared Kasyr earlier, as she was feeling in better spirits than she’d had in quite some time. That mood was shattered just as surely as the night was as tables and chairs fell around them. Valrae stumbled, barely managed to catch herself before she took an embarrassing fall into the floor of the bakery. “Son of a-” A table crashed loudly near her, drowning out whatever she’d said next. She stumbled out into the cold night moments after Lan, tilting her face to the sky as cursed wind sent the golden, curled ends of her hair flying around her wildly. Valrae watched the runes scribe across the moon and felt all of the lightness of before seep from her body, suddenly cold to the bone in a way that had nothing to do with the wind that buffeted around her. “Goddess help us,” She murmurs, wrapping her arms around herself. Her eyes were dark when she entered the bakery again, shaking her head. Wordlessly, Val gathered her things and bundled herself up for the weather again. She gave a parting word to each of them, gave Kasyr’s hand a parting squeeze while asking to speak with him privately soon, and then she slipped back out into the illuminated streets of Cenril and headed for home.

Khitti could feel Valrae’s attention on her every so often as they had held hands. She had tried to ignore it. Gods, she was being so obvious. What was wrong with her? She was so good at hiding this sort of thing before. Though now wouldn’t be an opportune time, if Valrae tried in the future, it’s possible the witch could pry it out of her at some point -- talking with someone else besides Brand might be needed anyway. Does anyone have an address for a good therapist? To try to mask her discomfort further, she spoke again finally, “Congrats, Odhranos.” There’s another smile for him, though he couldn’t see it. Could he sense it with her words? Her thoughts weren’t allowed to stay on these topics long, for the ground shook and she too went to see what had happened, though she only peered out the window. Whatever sort of cheery disposition she had attempted to muster had gone. As Valrae grabbed her things and left, so too was Khitti provoked to leave as well. “Stay here as long as you wish. I-I need to go to the ship. I need to check on Brand. The place will lock up on its own after the last person leaves.” She didn’t bother to clean up. Khitti was in no frame of mind to deal with any of this now and thankfully, it didn’t look like they would for the moment. “Caltarok, we will begin your training soon -- it seems as though it’s going to be needed,” she said before disappearing out the door like the witch before her.

Caltarok followed the others outside and starred in wonder at the power being used and the scribing on the moons. Though he didn't understand what was fully occurring, he did understand that the vast amount of magic being poured out. He feared for the world… not only had he learned of the ancient evil that the WG were preparing off, he had learned of a god threatening all life, and now this. He didn't know all his compatriots, but he understood the challenge before them now. He wasn't sure by the end of this if he could keep anyone from finding out his true identity… He just might have to abandon the human form to get access to the full extent of his magic no matter how wild it was. He glanced at Khitti with fear briefly seen in his eyes before being replaced quickly with excitement with the prospect of training and battle, "I agree. I will be working on defensive spells for the time being. I won't go far from the city this night. I will find a tavern with available bedding." Turning to leave, the wind sprite waves at Khitti before bending the air around Caltarok causing him to vanish from sight while also dropping the temperature to prevent Caltarok's heat from being found either. Neither of them had noticed the agent of Caluss moving in the shadow to track Caltarok through the streets of Cenril.

Kasyr would have vacated his chair so quickly it'd be left spinning in place, just to gawk out the door after Lanlan, once the illusionist mentioned of Ahr'nuk. This can't be called the happy sort of spectator sport, either. There's a palpable sort of dread emanating from the Kensai, the likes of which seems to only intensify with each new bit of scrit carved into the mage moons surfice vis a vis arcane devastation. "Tabernac. Maudit Calice D'esti Batard." Kasyr isn't the only one voicing his displeasure either- given that the streets hadn't quite been entirely deserted. A few alley-ways down, a pack of guardsmen had been lying in wait for the infamous swordsman to emerge from the shop, so they might try to arrest him. That said, the current spectacle was doing a more than admirable job of distracting them, given the omen was more than adequately apocalyptic. And really, as much as Kasyr does have to now contemplate the possibility that yet -another- disaster can be chalked up to his negligence- it's not so much that he doesn't come to his senses and begin discreetly sidling away from the scene. Frankly, the only indication that Valrae even got through to the man, is the very awkward manner in which he briefly emerges from an Alley to wave, before disappearing back in it.

Quintessa follows after Lanlan, not ready to let him find out what that noise was before she figured it out. At least this way they could witness this together. The changeling, Arh’Nuk’s chosen as she was, watches the face of her patron moon with fascination. Should she be angry at this turn of events? “I wonder how this will affect my aura…” Quintessa muses, already feeling the glow from the moon shifting as the mystic phrase was altered. Her eyes flicker to Odhranos when he speaks about them entering the endgame, and she lifts her hand to tug on her bottom lip thoughtfully. “Well, I’m willing to see this through to the end. I still owe Haladavar ‘thanks’ for manipulating me.” Her eyes remain glued to the red moon, pondering what her next step should be. Finally, a sigh escapes her chest and she shakes her head. “I have much to research. If anyone needs me, you’ll find me at the Misshapen Fortress of the Dark Forest.” And with that Quintessa steps backwards, her shadow-stepping boots aiding her in sinking into the stygian darkness of the alleyways until she has completely vanished. This was a terrible omen, one that the countess could not ignore.

Lanlan is almost as enthralled by the moon as Caluss’s children in the street. Should this be documented? No. He knows someone who will have it figured out already. Hopefully. He tears his eyes away from the admittedly beautiful and awesome travesty. “Odhranos? The strategy...might not work anymore. We need to come up with something else.” Lanlan had no idea he was already instinctively looking to Odhranos for guidance, even if he did consciously decide not to use his now-apparent title. For pride. “Come with me to my castle. Surely ialantha will have thoughts, insight, into what his plan is.” He crosses the street, finds a blank stone wall, and thrusts forward both his ruby capped cane and a transparent magic want. Over the course of half a minute, he inscribes 13 magical Glyphs ambidextrously on the empty wall, opening a doorway. He starts toward it when a zombie stumbles toward him, unable to register Lanlan’s existence because of his magical Gris-gris talisman. “Get--get out of the way!” Suddenly, the poor deady becomes an outlet for Lanlan’s frustration, and he shoves it to the ground, and beats it several times with his cane. “This way,” he says, gesturing to the fluid looking portal that now appeared. The plague victim is fine, Lanlan isn’t strong like that. But nobody tell Valrae or she’ll get upset, and recently they’ve had a decent working relationship. He steps through the door and appears several blocks away, in his house.