The Mastermind

Soren Archeim of Dawnstar. Mage and Warden with enough political guile to topple every lord in Eldris.

[bloodofdawn]

He swore he would only have one drink. So far he was on his third. The wine in Highwing was to be commended for its silky-smooth taste, though it lacked the richness of Dawnish wine. With another sip, Soren glanced around the ballroom down below. The balcony was plenty good for him, where he could mingle with the nobles and talk down their lavish manors that didn’t even have indoor gardens. One even had been bragging about his two-floor library. Two floors! The Star Tower’s library had seven, not including the balcony off the rotunda.

“The Dawnish never danced like this at their gatherings,” Soren muttered to the person beside him, who likely had no interest in Dawnish traditions, nor their comparison to those in the “vastly inferior” Highwing. “We had grace, we had class, and we were trained in how to handle our ladies. Not like playthings but like a musician handles his instrument. A true dancer makes his woman’s body sing with her movements.” He’d been unaware of his ramblings until he came to an abrupt halt. With a sip of wine, Soren asked, “Are there any ladies you see without a partner? I ought to show these barbarians how its done. Of course, unless you’re dying for a conversational partner.”

[bloodofdawn]

Moodboard: A Royal Invite Wardrobe

“Well, then, let us see how those fools at Highwing carry themselves at an event such as this.”

[bloodofdawn]

poweratanyprice:

Liss took a long drink from her wine as Soren spoke, barely holding back a grimace at the mention of Archmage Archeim’s displeasure. She had not spent as much time under his tutelage as Soren, leaning more towards mastery of Fire than Earth, but the man’s harshness was infamous. As she progressed through her training Liss understood the necessity of discipline, watching with disdain as the apprentices fumbled with their magic and disgraced themselves with foolish acts of defiance. Regardless, there were times the elder Mages were unjustly cruel and Archmage Archeim was hardly the epitome of justice and kindness. If anything, he seemed to turn crueler with each year that passed. 

“The Elder Mages would gladly lecture the world into submission,” Liss said with a bitter sneer. “Eldris is being torn apart, I feel the shift in the balance with every passing day and still they sit in their Tower believing themselves safe. The power contained in the rifts is beyond even the Tower’s ancient magic, it cannot withstand forever, it will fall. And what will they do? Recite the theorem of elemental forces at it?”

Liss scoffed at the thought, her face twisting in disgust as she spoke of the Tower. Normally she would never have shared such open disdain for her former home but with Soren she found her tongue loosening, surprising herself with the trust she afforded him. Sentiment, she thought bitterly, stopping herself from speaking any further on the matter.

Liss laughed gleefully at his last comment, raising her wine glass in agreement. “Quite.”

“Though I am not certain our reasons for leaving were entirely the same.” She said, knowing she was treading a dangerous path. “I believe mine were not quite so… domestic.”

Soren raised an eyebrow at Lissela’s rising temper and how she freely insulted the Tower. Yes, she’d always been a bit of a fireball among the older mages and wasn’t one to blindly follow what her superiors told her, but to openly criticize her institution? It was both a shocking and delightful thing. No one spoke such blasphemy about the Tower within its marble walls, but outside there was no one to stop them. Soren grinned, wrapping his fingers around the glass of wine and raising it. “I’ll drink to that,” he said. “The theorem of elemental forces, a nice touch. Amusing to speak of but you know that many of them would sit on the sidelines during a battle with a Rift, their noses stuck in a book, trying to figure out the ‘why’ before being promptly gutted by a lightning bolt.”

As the conversation progressed, Soren found himself more and more at ease. Here was a piece of home, even if it reminded him of the woman he left to die. His mother, rather. Not “woman.” The thoughts swirled in his mind, conflicting with the comfort he found in being in the presence of a fellow Dawnish mage. Not to mention, she was a Dawnish mage that had some semblance of a head atop her shoulders.

“Not entirely, but close enough. We both realized the stupidity of those in charge, yet we haven’t entirely thrown aside our dignity. Mages ought to reign supreme, but not those who are ignorant of the world. So,” he took a sip of his wine, “I take it you plan on staying for some time.”

[roswitha-unroh-blog]

Roswitha crinkled her nose as she made her way through the sludge, trying not to think too much about what it was she was walking in. The frightful concoction of smells down in the sewers below Highwing made her eyes sting and her nose burn. For the first time ever she was glad that Birgir was back in Miwor Town and not by her side. At least he didn’t have to be subjected to this, and his nose was even more sensitive than her above-average sense of smell. In addition to the awful stench, the noises in the sewers were echoing in an disconcerting way. Roswitha could feel a headache brewing, with all these assaults on her senses to blame. Not for the first time on this trip, she cursed the noble who ever thought he could safely keep a Narfeni lion in his gardens.

Rangers owning rare and exotic beasts, while unusual, was not unheard of. Some would purposely travel beyond the borders of Eldris to try and bond with those little known creatures. But for a noble to try and keep such a beast, for him to try and mollify this lion, it was almost laughable. He lacked the understanding and communication of a Ranger that was necessary to properly care for such an animal. If she had her way she’d return the lion to its homeland, or perhaps care for it herself if it proved too soft to survive. But unfortunately that was not the task. They were to capture the lion and return it to the noble. So that was what Roswitha would do, no matter how much she silently objected.

She rolled her eyes as she heard the mage in front of her begin to speak. Tracking a “pet” lion through a sewer to catch it and return it to its gilded cage was less than ideal, but it was certainly doable. Having to deal with this Dawnish mage however. Roswitha was finding it near impossible. It was stirring up all sorts of unpleasant memories that she would have rather remained forgotten.

bloodofdawn

[bloodofdawn]

The muttered curses and nasty words spewing from Soren’s mouth made the sewer water look clean in comparison. He’d fought monsters that vomited out multicolored liquid, pinned down creatures that made spiders look cuddly, and dealt with a rat infestation of the lower level of the Star Tower, but nothing compared to the rancidity of human waste. “Thinks he can keep a lion...must have had gates made of candied licorice...the eyes of a blind bat...wild goose chase for his filthy beast...who does he think he is...” And so the mage and the ranger were sent to track the beast down. Soren supposed it couldn’t be too bad, being stuck with a ranger who knew a great deal more about animals than he ever did, even if she was a lesser excuse for a magic user.

Soren lifted a leg and plopped it down, sending sludge flying. “Aaack, not the doublet, not the doublet...” he said, wincing as his clothes, as borrowed and commonplace as they might be, grew even more soiled. “I say we fetch the noble and drag him by the ear to search for his furry child instead of having Wardens do the work. I am a mage of the Tower, not a pet-sitter!” He heard a groan behind him, presumably from that ranger. “You must have no problem at all with this. As long as it ends in a cuddly creature, isn’t that right?” 

[bloodofdawn]

alyaenawynn:

Alyaena arched an eyebrow, her smile widening into an amused grin. This man wasn’t only nosy but bold as well. He was trouble. Though he didn’t appear as power-hungry as most mages were. Did he simply crave for knowledge like herself? The possibility seemed unlikely but anything could happen. “You are very cute to ask many questions, Soren Archeim.” She chuckled, covering over his hand that touched her book with her own hand. “But like I said before, curiosity can be…” She leaned forward and playfully bopped a finger against Soren’s nose. “…a dangerous thing. Just Like. Magic.” Alyaena continued, pulling his hand away from her book as she leaned back into her seat.

“I am Alyaena, Arcanist, and many of things you could say. I hold more knowledge than any mages in Eldris on the matters of magic and the arcane, whether or not you wish to believe me.” Alyaena said, then flickered her tongue against her upper lip, tilting her head slightly. “Being an Arcanist is how I know more than your Star Tower mages. Wanting to learn and experiment with the very essence of magic. Exposing oneself to the very dangers to magic’s nature. I was given an education I can be certain that any mage or witch would dream of having.” She pressed a hand on the blue bandana around her neck, flashing another smile. “I can share you whatever knowledge you wish to know to a certain point, but sadly this…project I am working on is off limits to strangers like yourself. No matter how handsome they are.” Alyaena explained to Soren, closing her book once again. “A lady can’t reveal all her secrets so early, Soren Archeim.”

"’Cute’ isn’t the word that most use to describe me, my lady,” Soren said in a low voice, a sly grin slipping onto his face. He reached his hand out from under the mage’s and placed his on top, then traced a finger along the writings in the notebook. How coy of her. He merely endured her lighthearted tap against his nose, a bored look coming over his face. “How awfully forward you are.” It’d been some time since Soren had felt a woman’s touch, but that wasn’t exactly what he’d had in mind. “If knowledge is dangerous, then so be it. Once a mage wields it, he can gain all the power in the world. And for those who oppose him, yes, that knowledge is dangerous indeed.”

Soren held up a finger at Alyaena’s long-winded description, then shook his head when she finished. “I’m going to stop you right there, my lady. Some call me egotistical but you’ve proven them all wrong with that single statement. Most powerful mage in Eldris, not a chance of it.” Her audacious pride should have angered Soren, and perhaps had he still been a Tower mage, he would have thrown the table across the room in a blind fury. It could have been all the flower-planting, but now only a pulsating curiosity remained in the hole where the anger once was. “You fascinate me, Arcanist, but our training is similar to what you describe. No magic is purely safe, and my father was certain to expose me to as much danger as he could, knowing it would strengthen me.” He drummed his fingers on the table, cocking his head to the side. “Your project...you know that it won’t be finished as long as you’re stagnating in confusion. Tell me what it is or it might never see the light of day.”

[bloodofdawn]

alyaenawynn:

Alyaena peeked out from underneath her hood, finding herself looking upon the face of a man who was sitting across from her at the table. He was a good-looking fellow. Nosy but good-looking. She narrowed her eyes at the stranger. He didn’t look to be too much of a threat. A fool? Maybe. But not much of a danger…yet. “Curiosity can be a dangerous thing, you know.” She leaned forward as her eyes glinted a hint of mischievous from underneath the hood. “But this book here is mine, yes, and I do have to say that I feel a tad insulted right now.” Alyaena somewhat scrunched her nose at the man. “I have knowledge and skills beyond what any mage here could have, even those in your towers. These diagrams are just…evidence of a slump that I am currently stuck in.” She said, tracing a finger over her work.

“Magic can be so tricky sometimes, even if you get your hands on it and try to take it apart many of times.” Suddenly, those memories she was avoiding dearly from had ascended further to her train of thought, causing her to close her book with the papers folded in between it. It would probably be best for her to take a break from figuring out how to she was going to make contact with her homeworld. She’d always figure it out later. The scouting mission needed to be the only important matter to her as of now. She should focus on that plan.

As well as she should learn what this nosy yet good-looking stranger wanted. “Now, since you seem to be so curious of me, why don’t you tell me your name and I’ll tell you mine?” Alyaena asked, flashing a lackluster smile.

“You wouldn’t be the first to find yourself insulted by my comments. It’s a natural flow of conversation from where I grew up, to be simultaneously pleased and angered by one’s companion.” Soren leaned in closer to examine the book, watching as the woman’s finger glided over the careful writing on the pages. He didn’t recognize the concepts listed, much to his annoyance. “You make a tall statement, claiming to have more wisdom than mages who have been alive many times longer than you.” He didn’t know her age, true, but Soren always assumed these pesky unknown mages weren’t much older than twenty.

Soren frowned as the woman closed the book. As much as he hated to admit it, he’d been in many a slump before, and pressure from his father hadn’t exactly helped matters much. It’d taken far too long to perfect his earth armor, and as for learning how to create a mid-sized crack in the ground, complete with lava at the bottom just deep enough to maim but not kill? Years of study and insomnia. “Soren Archeim, Tower mage and son of Archmage Daereth Archeim.” The woman’s question snapped him back into the present. “I’m not only interested in your name, but where you’ve supposedly become more powerful than the Star Tower mages.”

He slipped a finger between the pages of her book, opening it up again to a random page. “Tell me about this project that has your pretty little mind all tangled up.”

[alyaenawynn-blog]

In the middle of a barely standing Two Bucks Inn’s tavern, there sat a deeply annoyed Alyaena scribbling down all the ideas she had in her head into her grimoire. Any magical possibility. She would even take a small chance of a miracle of she had to. Anything but the accepting that the impossible was what it was; the unyielding impossible.

“No, no, this won’t do at all,” she muttered underneath her breath as she set the quill down and leaned back in her chair. She glared at the scattered papers in front of her on the table that were jotted with ink and poor–very piss poor–concepts. There was no way she could possibly send a message back home while in another world. She didn’t have the right materials, energy, or magic to complete such a task. She already wasted so much of those things before coming across the Wardens.

This was not the plan! She flickered her gaze up the ceiling, or what’s left of it, and gritted her teeth. Alyaena did not plan or ever dreamed on being stranded alone on this, this dreary world crawling with humans and complete chaos. Nor she did honestly desire to join this ragtag band of misfits called the Wardens. But she had no actual choice. This was the only genuine option she had to survive in this unfamiliar world as well as complete her mission.

Somehow.

Once she determined if allying with the humans will help her people and their home, what she supposed to do next? Using arcane magic to create another portal like before is a possibility but its outcome was not exactly ideal. She and the others knew the risk of using such a dangerous spell. It was arcane magic. They all knew. She knew.

However, that didn’t stop Alyaena’s thoughts from bringing back the memory of when she entered the portal. The distressing screams of her group moments after they casted the spell still echoed into her head. She knew exactly what happened to her group after she ended up on the other side of the portal. She knew.

A slight sickening sensation began to erupt in the bottom of her stomach. She tried to push away the memory, but they refused to disappear. She tugged down her cloak’s hood to make sure it was over her head and sighed. She hated having emotions.

[bloodofdawn]

The day had been long and exhausting, with Soren wanting to do anything but wake up the next morning. The hole in the inn’s roof only served as a grim reminder of what more had to be done. The earth mage had proven an exceptional resource for burying bodies and reshaping the ground that had been torn asunder by the strange green lightning from the sky. It was sickening, how they thought they could just use Soren for such a thing. He was a Tower mage, not a common slave, but thus far, his complaints had gone unnoticed.

While deep in a mug of what he pretended was ale but was actually milk, Soren leaned over to take a look at the woman at the next table. She was relatively pretty, not to mention her clothing showed she was a mage, though it was strange clothing indeed. His gaze fell onto the notebook before her with little scribblings of, could it be, magical properties?

Soren left his mug of milk on the table and sat across from the woman, who had now buried herself in the hood of her cloak. “Have you stumbled across a mage’s notebook, or is that evidence of you attempting to pick apart the mysteries that take us eons to unravel?” A rocky start. “You aren’t from the Tower, and yet those diagrams are...at least a third as good as our apprentice mages. I don’t often say this but that’s not a disappointing as I thought it would be.”

[bloodofdawn]

poweratanyprice:

As the younger Mage entered her room, Liss took the opportunity to examine him. He had aged since she had last seen him, the softness of youth all but gone and a sharp coldness replacing it. The deep frown on his face reminded her so much of his father, the expression almost exclusively adorning the Archmage’s face. However his features overwhelming reminded her of his late mother and she felt a nagging ache for the loss. She had known Giselle would die eventually, having no magic to sustain her, but that brought little comfort when she passed. She insisted the feeling was disappointment for losing such a valuable asset but a part of her knew the ache was deeper, the pain of losing someone she might have called friend if she could ever bring herself to use such a word.

“That you have,” Liss agreed, inclining her head respectfully in response. “The pleasure is mine, intellectual company is in rather short supply here.”

Pleased with his respectful nature so far, though not surprised as he was a Star Tower Mage of Dawnstar and that title did not come without decades of ruthless training in both magic and politics. Regardless, the usual suave confidence she had come to associate with the Archeims seemed to be lacking somewhat. Soren seemed… distant, withdrawn. Clearly troubled. Whilst a part of her said it was not her business and she had no interest in the man’s life or his problems, a loud voice reminded her that Giselle would be turning in her grave to see him so distraught. She had promised the woman she would keep an eye on the boy and she knew as well as Giselle how cruel a man the Archmage could be. 

“Lady Archeim would speak of little else.” Liss said with an amused smile, the woman was sickening at times with her devotion to her young son. All Dawnish prided themselves on their Mage relatives and ancestry but Giselle’s pride went deeper, she genuinely loved her son and Liss couldn’t help but feel a little jealous for the open warmth she showed her child. Something Liss had never had from her own parents and despite it being over a century since their passing, it still stung.

“Perhaps we have,” Lisselá said noncommittally, gesturing for him to take a seat as she pulled a bottle of wine from her stash along with a couple of glasses. “I had heard of the rifting, as we all had.”

She paused to pour them both a glass and allow the man a chance to make himself comfortable. Whilst her room was not the level of opulence either were used to, it was larger than most within the Inn and boasted not only a relatively comfortable bed but a desk and two chairs.

“The Wardens needed help, clearly,” She said, her gaze flickering to the side as she thought of the fumbling children calling themselves Wardens and playing at war. “The Tower did not seem interested in the rifting, believing themselves immune.”

She snorted again, thinking of the aged Mages in the Tower and their refusal to acknowledge the very real threat looming over Eldris. The Tower may have ancient magic sustaining and protecting it but she very much doubted it could withstand an assault from the Netherworld and even if it did, the rest of Eldris surely would not. 

“There are many things the Tower can teach, much knowledge it can provide but this is a finite amount. To truly learn of the balance and it’s power, one needs to journey further.” She said, surprising herself with her honesty before her lips twitched upwards. “And one can only withstand so many of Lord Saethor’s lectures.”

“And what of your departure?” Liss asked, meeting his gaze with a questioning look. “I did not expect any others of the Star Tower to follow. Certainly not Lord Archeim’s dearest son.”

The way that Lissela’s eyes lit up when speaking about his mother only left Soren feeling more tense than before. Running a hand through his hair, he glanced to the side, nodding at everything the mage said about his mother. He didn’t need to know from a third party that his mother had praised him. With a sharp nod Soren took up Lissela’s invitation to sit in the chair and was relieved to see her bringing out a bottle of wine. Anything to shove away these unbecoming emotions and the ugliness of guilt.

“I talked with my father, pleaded with the man, even. He does not take kindly to begging.” Soren rested his hands in his lap, furrowing his brow. “He wouldn’t hear of it. He supported the oft-defended belief that we should let the priests handle the Rifts, or try to, rather, and then when they fail, us mages will step in and prove once and for all that we are the superior force in Eldris. Yet on other days, the mages are so wrapped up in their damn politics that the end of the world may very well be upon us!” Soren clamped his mouth shut the moment he heard his voice rising in intensity, but he wasn’t about to offer an apology. “I know that us mages are far superior in every way, but even I can see that we will have no power without a ground to stand on. The Rift will strip us of our magic in time, and I for one am content with my magic remaining as it is.”

Soren accepted a glass of wine and took a long sip, swallowing hard. He’d never been one for drinking. “I left for the same reason as you,” he managed to say after a long pause. “Along with knowing that no self-respecting priest can lead worth a damn.”

[bloodofdawn]

[bloodofdawn]

poweratanyprice:

Lisselá startled at the knock at her door, so engrossed in her thoughts she had lost all awareness of her surroundings. Carefully smoothing her hair and clothing, she glanced quickly at the tome laying across her desk to remind herself what she had been reading before turning toward the still-closed door and calling out a reply.

“Lord Archeim, you may enter.” She said, trying to mask the surprise in her voice.

Grateful he had manners, unlike many of the others occupying the Inn, she lent back in her chair with feigned disinterest as he entered her room. 

“Little Soren,” She said with a teasing smirk, “How could I forget such a scrawny child?”

Although she had first met Soren as a very young child, she had seen him many times throughout their years at the Tower. She had known of his affinity for magic and in particular the earth element which had come as no surprise considering his father was the Tower’s own Earth Archmage. Though despite their shared home, Liss was greater acquainted with Soren’s mother. Giselle had been a close contact for many years and Liss had found she genuinely enjoyed their connection, the two forming a formidable alliance in political maneuvering. The woman was shrewd, her knowledge and place in society invaluable and even more so considering her marriage with the Archmage. 

Liss was extremely curious to discover Giselle and Daereth’s son, with such promise and standing, had abandoned the Star Tower for the Wardens. Had he, like her, been disenfranchised by the Tower and it’s stifling and oppressive rule? Or was he here on the Archmage or the Tower’s orders? Whatever the reason it seemed that he had been avoiding her thus far, though she had not exactly gone out of her way to speak with him either, and she was curious as to what had made him seek her out now.

“What brings you here, Soren?” She finally asked.

It had been many years since the two had spoken last, though in the eyes of Mages it seemed like mere months ago. After the death of his mother, Soren preferred to distance himself from her friends and any traces of her life, more out of dependency on his father than out of malice. But as Soren entered the room of one of the last surviving pieces of Giselle Archeim’s life, he could only frown at the discomfort of the situation. There it was again, the pang of regret at abandoning his mother in the last years of her life. But she hadn’t been a Mage. Again and again he reminded himself of that.

“I’d like to think I’ve grown in stature significantly since we last spoke.” Soren smiled politely and dipped his head to acknowledge the older Mage. Lissela was a respectable woman and almost twice his age. There were many things that could be learned in that amount of time. In a rare moment, Soren was humbled. She’d changed a bit, with the slightest hint of wrinkles beginning to form on her once young and beautiful face. “At last, I’m faced with another one of our kind. A pleasure.”

Soren stepped into the room once he knew he’d been accepted. “I only wished to know if you would remember me, though my mother would be unlikely to let you forget.” Ah, how his mother loved to brag about her little boy. She knew that Soren would long outlast her and indeed, she’d died in her seventies. But his father had steered Soren far away from the aging woman, taking mistresses from the Tower the moment that his wife’s beauty began to fade. “I haven’t come with a request, only out of necessity. We’ve been ignoring each other, haven’t we?” he asked, particularly bold for a young Mage. But then again, that was nothing new. “In fact I should be asking you, what brings you here with the Wardens? I left only weeks after you but never expected to see you again.”

[bloodofdawn]

@priestoftheshadows

The inn still stood, but a piece of it had been lost. No, not just the portion of the roof that was now covered in several hastily-nailed pieces of wood. Where there had once been dancing, singing, and merriment there was now a hush over the townspeople. Once they drank for enjoyment, now they drank to forget those bloodied bodies of their loved ones who had filled the cemetery so quickly that the gravedigger worked overtime.

One of the bards picked up his lute and sought to break the silence with a song, something along the lines of “we’re all still alive and hey, might as well drink to that.” A few patrons swayed to the music, but most still bored the hollowed and reddened eyes of mourning and drunkenness. It would take more than one song to heal a town.

Soren stared into the bottom of his mug of mead, seeing a tired mage staring back at him. The past few days had been hellish, from the cleaning up to the countless townspeople begging him to give them more information. Even now he felt their stares. They looked to him for guidance, as he was both a Warden and a Mage, but thirty years of training couldn’t turn an arrogant man into a counselor. He turned to the Warden beside him. “It’s terribly depressing in here,” he said. “These people should be happy their inn is still standing and a Rift hasn’t swallowed their entire town. And if only I had enough coin on my person to silence that insufferable bard...”

[bloodofdawn]

@poweratanyprice

The inn was filled with the sounds of chattering patrons and clinking glasses, as was so often the case. Soren had a habit of distancing himself from the noise and flipping through books or toying with his spells off in his room, alone. Like many of the mages, though, Soren was not a loner. He longed for the community that came with being at the Star Tower, the heated conversations over dinner, or tricking the mages-in-training to believe that there was such a thing as a breastplate stretcher. Here there was none of that.

But then again, there was a piece of home just a few doors down, likely staying away from the peasants’ chatter just as Soren had chosen to do. But the thought of approaching her in this world, this place so far removed from the Tower...it seemed terribly odd and even a bit intimidating. All the same, Soren walked out into the hallway and knocked on the door outside the room reeking with magic.

“Lady de Sauveterre,” he called. “Soren Archeim. You must remember me.” He stared at the wood grain on the door in the dim torchlight of the hallway. She would know the name Archeim from his mother. The question was, did the older mage know of the Archmage’s son? She had to.

[rose-red-sinner-blog]

Omens - Soren and Khal

[bloodofdawn]

rogue-prodigy:

“You do that and I will cover you!” Khal shouted above the roaring of the rift around him. The entire area smelled of death and sulfur. Khal was used to the death but the stench was so thick. He walked by the bodies of men and women alike without so much as a side-glance. They were no one now, gone and lifeless corpses for the worms to feast upon. The only living person he could see Vana. 

When they neared the rift and he spotted her fighting below them he felt relief, strength even. the wound he sustained was nothing but a dull ache now. HE had been trained to ignore injuries and keep fighting. When the Mage sent his magic to the rift Khal immediately covered him from the onslaught of attack. All manner of beastly nightmares rushed forward and Khal was a deadly weapon. The undead once again fell beneath the slice of the assassin’s blade. 

Vana was alive, he could sense it now and he held to that as if it were his last thought. The swell of emotion within him spurred the strength within him. He fought , not only with skill, but with passion.  “What do you need me to do?” He shouted toward his companion. He had never assisted a Mage before but given the circumstances he needed to learn quickly.

The stench and the corrupted magic made the very veins within Soren’s arms bulge with irritation. His eyes watered and throat went dry in the poisoned air. As the lightning net began to weave together, Soren blocked out the sounds of Khal slicing apart whatever hellish creatures had decided to attack him. “I don’t typically associate with your kind,” Soren shouted above the sound of lightning cracking and monsters screeching, “but I owe you a drink, should we survive.”

“Fend off anything that comes near,” he instructed Khal, “particularly the wielders of magic. They’re draining my energy.” He clenched his jaw as several hovering glowing beings began to draw the magic out of Soren, his spark weakening. Just a little while longer. It was no different than casting spells at the Tower with hordes of skilled mages looking on. Creatures emerged from the Rift, their snarling faces pressed up against the lightning barrier. Soren felt the eyes of the Wardens on him, taking in his power. With one final effort he aimed to strengthen the weave.

With a crack louder than the most violent thunderstorm, the barrier shattered, undead rushing out of the Rift like water bursting over a fallen dam. Soren fell to the ground, shocked, but nothing more. “It’s impossible,” he muttered, “my magic is nothing to them.”

[rose-red-sinner-blog]

Omens - Soren and Khal

[bloodofdawn]

rogue-prodigy:

Did he have a plan? Khal turned to face the Mage with a desperately blank look. He had no idea how to close the rift, he was hoping that Soren might close it while he protected him. “We need to get as close as we can, and you have to try and close it. I will keep you out of harm’s way while you try.” He spoke with more confidence than he actually had.

The alcohol he had consumed just prior to the shattering rift had made it almost impossible to keep his mind clear of the torments. He could smell burning flesh and ash and all manner of vile filth littering his senses. There was a body not three feet from him that seemed as if it were overrun with the putrid air. Their lungs had given out and left them breathless. 

“I am fine now Mage. Mind your own arse and I will mind mine, clear?” He was most definitely ashamed of his failure with the darkest of the rifts visions. It had been something he learned to live with but this thing had completely taken him by surprise. “Do you see the others?”

They’d neglected to teach him how to close a hole in the sky back at the Star Tower. “Looks as if we’ll have to incorporate this into training next semester,” Soren muttered, his fingers crackling with bits of golden lightning. He couldn’t close it, but he could block it off for a time using the air around the rift. A priest would have to finish the work off, but he’d never seen anything like this before. It could take more than a priest, even.

One body, then more up ahead. An entire caravan of merchants had been taken out. Soren turned away, not eager to admit to the sick feeling the corpses gave him. “All I have is the ability to control the air,” Soren shouted, “I can hold the creatures back, but it’s impossible to close it. My magic is incapable of it.”

Soren stopped again for a moment to gasp for air before running after Khal again. The pair approached the hill upon which the Rift hovered over, its green light spiraling outwards and crackling to the ground. Just across from them stood a woman in a white dress paired with several other ragged figures, all fighting off screeching undead. “Time to make yourself useful, rogue!” Soren held up his hands towards the Rift and began to knit together a web of lightning, pulling charged particles from the air. His stone armor clung to his body, cracking as Soren’s energy was directed towards the lightning.

[rose-red-sinner-blog]

Omens - Soren and Khal

[bloodofdawn]

rogue-prodigy:

“Yes, I have.” Khal felt heavy with the struggle this darkness weighed upon him. It was nothing like he had ever felt despite his intensified training. He brushed his chest where the creature had scratched him. Blood coated his palm, sticky and warm. Khal growled as he closed his mind from the beasts. “I was not prepared for such an attack. It will not happen again.” He felt shame for crying out for the others help. It was like he couldn’t bare to fail the wardens, Vana.

Was she safe? Would he see her again? Khal shoved himself off of the ground and sped forward towards the rift. He was riding the wings of the shadows, caring little for where Soren found himself. He still listened for his aura for some reason he could not fathom. Was he actually feeling indebted to the mage? “Let us go closer! Come!”

Soren had ran few times in his life, always walking through the Tower with a steady stride, never faster than a light jog. In order to keep up with the rogue, he drew energy from the earth, his lungs already beginning to burn as the two Wardens raced towards the Rift. “One would think...that we would intend...to run in the other direction!” Soren gasped for air. Green lightning cracked overhead as Miwor was left to fall in the rubble.

The Rift. The Rift was all that mattered. Soren’s senses burned the closer they ran, his head clouding with the darkness coming from it. Just over the hill. A quick break. Soren jolted to a halt, coughing, inhaling air tainted with ash. “Do we have a plan?” he shouted. “Are you going to fall to the ground in agony again?” In truth, Soren was realizing just how big that Rift was starting to look up close. He wasn’t about to admit that even a Tower mage’s magic wouldn’t be able to close it.

[rose-red-sinner-blog]

Omens - Soren and Khal

[bloodofdawn]

rogue-prodigy:

“ Oh yes, I must have missed the lesson in which Mages were invincible.” Khal rolled his eyes as they began to move toward the rift in careful strides. He kept his stance widened, prepared to fight in whatever manner he needed to. Dark green fumes loomed above them, around them; intoxicating smogs of green choked at their senses. This rift did not send physical attacks on Khal but rather psychological.

The dead spoke to him, his victims circled his mind and all manner of darkness clouded him. He had fought this battle countless times but here it was amplified by the rift. The shadows grabbed at his arms and legs. Any onlooker would see only Khal writhing beneath no attacker. He doubted Soren cared enough to notice his blight. The nightmares were the only moments in which khal could feel anything at all. “Soren!” He broke free of it and was pinned to the heated earth. His back arched off the ground as he was held to his back, blade out of reach. The beast clawed across his arm, the one that reached for the loose blade. 

Khal howled in pain just as he whisked away on the shadows. His blade lay untouched but he was able to whisk back to a vantage point and stab the beast in the back of the neck with a guttural cry. “Soren…..” He was pissed at the Mage for leaving him so open. THis was supposed to be a joint effort, the wardens, but he had been isolated by the netherspawn. They were manipulating the Prodigy from inside his mind. 

“Clearly you have, assassin.” Soren bolstered his defenses with a layer of rocky armor that formed over his flesh. He merely watched as the man screaming and writhed from the pain of the Shadow. Even the hardest of hearts beating in Soren’s chest couldn’t stand to see the sight for long. Though he’d known Khal for little time, he’d seen enough of the man to hate him. “Alas, you have been shown how little your skill matters in the wake of the storm,” he said over the man’s cries.

As Khal fell to the ground, a pang of pity flickered through Soren. He glanced up towards the Rift. He knew where he had to go, and he knew what needed to be done, but in the chaos of the green light and the shadows and the darker things writhing about, this man was in the middle of a nightmare within his mind. Just as he was about to step away, Soren reached down for Khal and grabbed him by the shoulder.

“Enough!” he shouted at the unseen enemies. Soren could sense them, being a mage, but they were too distant to fight off. “I’m not a priest, what do you expect me to do?” he addressed Khal. “Push them aside and block off your mind. Certainly you’ve battled nightmares in the past. Though, it serves you right for dabbling in shadows.” He truly had no idea of what to do for the rogue. Again, he was no priest, but he did have the resilient mind of a mage.

[rose-red-sinner-blog]

Omens - Soren and Khal

The celebration seemed too perfect, too calm. Khal was not drinking, singing, or seducing anyone. He knew there was a certain shift in the air that made the hair stand up on the back of his neck. It began as a electrical impulse and trickled down his spine. There was desperation in the atmosphere, undetected but lurking in the shadows. Khal sensed it before the flash of green light. He saw Vana throw her arms into the air but his speed was not enough to reach her in time. He surged toward her but the flash picked him up and threw him backwards. The pain was intense but bearable. Khal was used to the pain but failing Vana once again seemed to keep his limp body face down in the dirt. where was she? The ground was glowing green and hot to touch. He pushed off of the ground with little effort. His ears were ringing from the sound of the blast. Debris hung in the air as if all time had suspended itself for Khal to see. A cosmic joke. 

“Get up!” He shouted to the others around him. Dead bodies, hurting bodies; they seemed to stare at Khal with his mothers eyes. “Get UP!” He looked around and noticed another Warden, Soren…was that their name? Khal moaned softly as the world shifted unsteadily beneath him. His body ached with the forming bruises. All he could do was take this new reality in, feel it out for any sign of the world he knew.He drew his weapon out of his sheath and widened his stance. Soren was hurt, he could sense the blood spouting from his shoulder. “Can you fight?” He locked eyes with them. 

@bloodofdawn

[bloodofdawn]

He would not fall. He would not stumble. Pain shot through his shoulder but Soren had been injured enough times to know that it was only a flesh wound. Reaching down, Soren scooped up some dirt and molded it around his shoulder, forming a strong brace to hold it in place. He straightened up, locking eyes with another Warden, the new rogue, with his eyes wide and weapon drawn.

“You’re asking a mage if he can fight.” Soren straightened his good arm. “You obviously know nothing about my kind.” If only the mages had done something...it was inevitable. He knew this would come. Soren could only hope that his father was in the Star Tower, watching it crumble to the ground, wishing he had heeded the words of his son. How sorry he would be, now that Soren’s predictions had been proven correct.

“The Rift, I’m moving towards it,” Soren shouted over the din of screams and hissing undead. “The longer it remains open, the longer these vile creatures enter our world. It’s like the visions foretold.” He didn’t wait to see if the rogue was coming. He didn’t need company nor assistance, not when the road to the Rift was straight ahead.