• Closed • Power is a Prison

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20th of Ashan 721

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Woe
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Power is a Prison

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20th of Ashan 721, Mid-Morning Break

Woe walked, dragging his left foot behind him, into the library of the University, after paying whatever entrance fee or providing any proof necessary to show that he was entitled to be there. He needed their facilities, for a quiet place to practice his runic scrivening, have some quiet time to think, and also collate the data that Westcott had provided him. Yet that wasn't all. He needed access to the student body. He had the sense of something, at the corner of his mind. The Umbral Arachnid spun his thoughts out, and the Arcane Gaoler, for once, was cooperative with the imperious spider that represented his runic power.

All the while, his magics of Empathy and Attunement fed into his awareness. He was aware that he was spending larger amounts of ether today. Perhaps a bit of blowback from when he'd paradigm his sparks into submission, or soothe them. He was on the watch for one who might be vulnerable to corruption. It didn't happen often, but sometimes, his sparks begged to be passed onto another. The pressure had built over the past cycle, and now he had no inclination or desire to suppress its urge. He would satisfy Gaoler with an offering from among the students. It would be so easy, to pry their vulnerable and impressionable minds from their daily humdrum, and introduce them to a defiling power.

The only thing he wasn't certain of? Which spark to choose? Which monster to unleash.

So he entered the library, and took a seat nearby the door. Presenting for all the world a man who appeared lame. Yet that was only how he would seem. He was perfectly capable of moving at ease and with agility when needed. The Arcane Gaoler, however, imposed the twisted gait upon him when he was at ease. Woe was, to say it simply, not lame of leg.

He sighed, and pulled out one of his grimoires from his domain bag. This notebook, he began scribbling runes, all the while spreading his awareness throughout the library, using his Attunement to douse for those he might acclimate to a spark. At the same time, his Empathy spark searched for those of pliant will. Fragile tangles that would vitiate at the slightest prying.

Even as he did so, he practiced his runic script upon the book with a piece of graphite. He swept a small lock of white hair that fell in his eyes, pushing it aside to better check his penmanship. In truth, he was at a point where he needn't practice the runic language, and had more or less memorized those runes he knew. Yet, it never hurt to brush up. Sometimes the spark regurgitated an otherwise unknown rune during these impromptu writing sessions.

He lie in wait, like a trap-door spider, waiting for one student or visitor to appear who he might appropriate for his purpose.

word count: 496
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Re: Power is a Prison

☸☸☸

The tall, shaggy, pale man caught her eye as soon as he walked in the door. Kalypso watched him from her vantage point on a squishy arm chair behind where he was sitting. As she watched him come into the room and take a seat she knew he hadn't been here before. After all she spent so much time in the library and people you hardly notice don't usually limp into a room. Eyeing him from the top of her book she watched as he pulled out a tome not from their library. Something about him was uncanny and off, she desired to be away.

And so, curious old men reading curious books were no problem of hers today. She sighed, closing her own novel of choice and stretched her arms above her head. Putting the book beneath her arm she smoothed back her hair and rolled her eyes then began heading for the door. Heading around the man with the white hair she couldn't help but spare a glance and become aware of the gauntness of his face. It sent a chill down her spine. Shaking his visage out of her mind as she headed for the door, dropping from her arm her novel, but not noticing. She had other things on her mind like her future and where she was going. College was always an option but none of the pursuits interested her. By reading romance novels she thought maybe she could find the want to get a man, but no one had caught her eye.

In the back of her mind she wondered and thought maybe if she became a mage's apprentice she would find more purpose to her being. Something of the mind, a tantalizing idea that fascinated her. She was convinced this would open up new avenues in life for her. It would seem direction without purpose had gotten her this far in life, but something perhaps existential was missing. It occurred to her that if she could learn magic she could create grimoires, something she knew as a valuable tool in her attempt to dig into learning magic on her own. The one thing that she took from all of her research was that initiation was the only way and some kind of key.

No stranger to the odd, she had heard of things like amnesiacs appearing in the very library she frequented. But to her it felt off-putting. It didn't make her feel safe. Which is why when she saw that man she left. Putting her mind at ease she stopped for brunch from a stand on her way back home. That was when she noticed her book was missing and sighed. She would have to head back. Deciding to finish her churro first she enjoyed her dessert, lost in thought of her next book-binding project.


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Woe
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Re: Power is a Prison

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There were several hallmarks of a promising Magus, to Woe’s mind. One needed to be sufficiently determined and ambitious to seek such power, after all, and those who occupied these halls could certainly be labeled as such. They were all there to improve their lot in life. So, what was a personal improvement if not the manifestation of ambition in a person? It was simple enough for Woe to deduce that anyone occupying these halls would have some measure of that trait. And so it went ignored as he searched for someone promising.

There was enthusiasm, a boundless thirst for the fantastic that drove a great magus to heights undreamed of. Despite the claims of particularly sales-oriented professors of less lucrative fields would tell you, there wasn’t always ample opportunity to match the dreams of those who were called to one field or another. The majority of those who went to University went with a dream, for the pursuit of one walk of life or another. A dream that wouldn’t always bear fruit, but drove them onwards, even unto the adoption of less interesting fields of study, in hopes that it would fuel their passion for what they actually wanted to do. And what was a person, if they didn’t long for something? They might as well be thrall to a necromancer or a frayed husk. Woe willfully ignored those who possessed those traits as well.

There were many others besides, that could make someone a great magus of one stripe or another. Yet, which was chief among them? Curiosity; curiosity to drive one on to great discoveries and drive to gather more power to themselves, even if only to find out the result of that effect. Curiosity often enough defeated fear. Fear of the unknown in particular. It was the key ingredient in a promising apprentice, at the very least.

And so, as Woe scribbled in his journal, he continued to do so. Even as a nearby young woman rose up and left the library. Still, he waited and continued his work with the runes. Wait he would continue doing until one of the students around proved curious enough to investigate the strange ‘old man’ who sat drawing strange characters in his book.

Perhaps he’d be waiting until afternoon when his ferryman came to take him to Immortal’s Tongue? Time would tell.

word count: 400
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Re: Power is a Prison

☸☸☸


The morning was beautiful. Storms had reared their ugly head but days ago, and yet today was absolutely clear and not too cold. Ashan was finally here in all its glory, buds on the trees and birds returning to their roosts to sing. Lost in thought, she found herself wondering more about magic and the ways of magicians as she sat on a bench to rest. A bard had started to play nearby, busking with a rather gaudy hat sat in front for tips. She was singing a tale of the Order of Adunih, one Kalypso had heard before, her voice a husky, accented tone. Watching the busker idly she was consumed with her thoughts of the white haired man. Meanwhile the librarian saw no one stop to even tip this bard who Kalypso thought was rather good. Well off enough she grabbed a coin from her pouch and tossed in the hat. The bard, a handsome woman, grinned at her and strummed her guitar harmoniously.
"A song for the lady."
She said with a sailor's smile.

"A precipice of normalcy fraught with change;
The idle eyes of a girl idealizing a flirtatious sort of
future calamity.
Esoterically.
The well meaning black folds mean more than a second chance.
How does one love more than one thing at once?
Can the mask be dissolved or will she be consumed?

Speak now or forever hold your peace.
Take a leap.
Take a leap.
Take a leap.
Speak now or forever hold your peace."


Kalypso regarded the busker silently with a sort of uncanny eye, shaking her head. It was time to go get the book, she left the busker there to her singing and headed back to the library. The walk back was one filled with confusion. What would she say to this strange man when she got there? Running a hand through her silky black hair she found her way to the doors to the library. Upon entering Rose greeted her and handed her the novel, then motioned with her head towards the white haired man. She gossiped whimiscally to Kalypso that she thought he may be a wizard and that was enough for the woman. She bade Rose farewell and took some deep breaths. Then walked right up to the stranger and said with her head half to him, half looking away.
"So much time filing away words, yet no one here is permitted to speak above a whisper. I think it's interesting, comforting, being alone in your thoughts."
Pushing her short hair behind her ear a strand of hair fell back into her face, idly she moved it away as she spoke again.
"It's not often I find myself in the mindset to speak, but I like to listen. You see, I'm no fool. You're different. Sometimes they say it pays well to hear a different perspective."
If he seemed friendly she would take a seat opposite of him. On she spoke;
"On the way here I heard a bard say these words, 'The idle eyes of a girl idealizing a flirtatious sort of future calamity'. It was a beautiful song but I was wondering, what do you think that means?"
She looked calm, maybe to the untrained eye. But beneath her coy smile she was at the end of her seat waiting for him to speak. Trying not to stare at his book, she found herself prying her eyes away several times but respecting his privacy ultimately. Perhaps the books here were public but a book in the middle of being handwritten was not, or so said her writer's dogma.

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Re: Power is a Prison

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Woe’s time with the scribbling of various runic techniques, chains, and triggers wasn’t as fruitful as he’d hoped. It did not, in terms of the curiosity, it aroused in the few students who passed by, provide him with anything or anyone he was after. Many, most of them saw a ragged traveler, an old and sleep-deprived old man scribbling nonsense onto paper. Understandable and commendable judgments worthy of those who wished to avoid trouble. It was indeed by design that Woe presented himself as a haggard old hermit, sitting in a library scribbling what anyone with an awareness of any written language would recognize as gibberish if they weren’t feeling charitable, or coded script if they were. At the very least, he thought perhaps he’d provide fodder for the curiosity of students of the soft science of Psychology, one he was not formally trained in but well familiar on an intuitive level, and well equipped to converse with them upon.

He sat for at least a break and a half, but there were many more hours in the trial, and he would stick it out until a revelation presented itself to his meditative writing. Or else, he would stay until a student felt compelled to sit down with him and find out who he was, and what he was writing. If he was a madman, a fool, or something more mysterious.

The waiting took patience that Woe sometimes lacked, in truth. Holding out a line for any nearby creatures to get hooked upon. After the next break’s bell tolled, he almost wondered if he should’ve spruced up his ‘bait’. Perhaps a travel-stained old man wasn’t the right lure for the sort of students he was attempting to gather to him. He had set out on this social experiment in some measure expecting that any method of presentation might suffice. Perhaps he was mistaken? Woe did consider it often, that he might fail in his efforts for lack of understanding.

So it surprised him when he heard a woman nearby speak aloud, musing as much to herself as anyone that overheard. He viewed her tangle, monitoring it for context clues. She came with an expectation, of what he couldn’t quite identify. Empathy was not mind-reading, nor was it always accurate even in the emotions one sensed. The mind and the emotional tangle was an amazingly fluid construct. The colors different for each emotional thread from one person to the next, and it took one who could read emotions already sometimes, to identify those strands. Woe for his part was well familiar with the emotional expressions of mortals. He’d seen almost every emotion in his time, in the fullness of understanding, and in various settings across the arcs. Yet, even he sometimes was given cause to doubt his judgment, at times.

She told him things about herself, volunteering that she wasn’t a very vocal or outgoing personality. She seemed to hold off, waiting for some sign, that he wished for her to take a seat. Finally, he stopped his scribbling, setting aside his stick of graphite, and looking up at her with a thin smile. He nodded and gestured toward the seat across from him. It didn’t matter much where she sat, but he approved of her choice, sitting opposite him. She was curious perhaps, but cautious enough not to risk unnecessary closeness. Perhaps she was intelligent, even.

She seemed to quiz him on a piece of lyric she’d heard on the way to the library. He sighed to himself, with a smile, and felt as if she was stopping herself from something. ”An interesting verse.” Woe said, still smiling.

As he let the ether flow out on his words, and breeze over her tangle, he got the inkling from her that perhaps she was trying not to stare at his book. He might be wrong, but the shape of a tome on the surface of her tangle, that he teased out with those words, told him otherwise. Then again, he had been wrong about context clues in a few instances. Sometimes people just thought about books while in libraries, who’d have thought?

He thought on the words she shared with him for a few trills, rolling them over in his mind. After a fashion, he shrugged his shoulders. He would venture a guess, although who knew the internal workings of a bard. They rarely knew what they spoke of, but sometimes in the midst of a revel, they hit upon something that resonated with those who had actual, substantive thoughts. Woe presumed this girl was one such a person, who’d extrapolated more than the artist meant to say, by dint of her curious examination of the words.

”I think… The explanation for those words is plain to understand. The girl is idle, left to her own dull devices which fail to capture her interest. And so, a promise made, a vision of the future presented by a calamitous seducer wins them over. The ‘future calamity’ is the promise that either disappoints or else prompts the girl to wait, frittering away her efforts in an unhealthy occupation until the day her future never comes.” Woe shrugged again. Perhaps his interpretation was too fanciful or remote. But that was what he thought was meant by the lyrical device the bard had used.

In art, such as magic and music, only rarely was there a definite answer to the subject of an artist’s or wizard’s intent. Sometimes, Immortal's above, fairly often, even wizards could find themselves acting in contradiction to their true intent.

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Re: Power is a Prison

☸☸☸

He was well spoken for a man in road clothes. Mentally munching on the statement he made she thought he described what she was feeling lately in perfect words. A slight nod of her head grew more vigorous the more he spoke. She drank in his visage, gaunt and skeletal, pale and haunted looking. With no trace of aggression in either his stance or reaction, she recognized that his sighing was more from being stirred from his work and not the grunting of a hostile imbecile.
"Hmmm..."
She responded, mulling over more of his interpretation as she tapped her fingers on the arm of her seat.
"Maybe you're right. The metaphorical sometimes escapes me."
Again her eyes cast down on his book, it was surreal looking to her somehow and she wished to investigate it. This time she stared too long and caught herself, making a small cough before looking him in the eyes. They were just as pale as the rest of him, as if all the color had been sucked out of this person. The runes on his neck were the same, she noticed now truly taking him in for the first time. The only thing that wasn't pale were the rings around his eyes, so tired looking she doubted he should be making philosophical small talk with her let alone doing anything other than sleeping.

Should an awkward silence come between them she would finger the medallion around her neck before saying something so out of character for her that as the words escaped her mouth she felt like she was slapped in the face.
"You wouldn't happen to know how one would become initiated into a magic? I've never heard of anything like that at the college. Not for paid money anyway. I, well, I try my hardest sometimes to look for books on how to become a magician here at the library and in the market. As close as I have come to understanding the words written in the books... Well it basically says that I need to be initiated. I'm not even sure what that means."
Inside her chest her heart thrummed against her rib cage. Her hands felt hot, like she had done something wrong. She felt lucky to be speaking quietly in the library rather than the Scholar's Nook, which wasn't rowdy so much as at times filled with conversation. Fingering the book in her hand she felt like a fish out of water but tried flashing him a smile instead of looking as nervous as she felt, she doubted the façade held up well.
"Sorry, I don't mean to be presumptuous I just, I dunno. It's all I can think about recently. Strange things happen around Scalvoris all the time but you know, I try to avoid that. Lately I have felt sort of like that lyric..."
It occurred to her she was oversharing out of nervousness and let her voice trail off. If she talked too much he might leave, or maybe clam up.
"If I could learn things like ensorcelling and transmutation perhaps I would be able to create books similar to the one you are writing in. I think, those scrawlings aren't any language I've seen but I'm not a linguist."
Kalypso felt again at that moment slapped in the face and she smiled wide to cover up her fear, a sly smile like a fox.
"Sir, I am so sorry. Excuse me. My name is Kalypso. Do you have a moment?"
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Woe
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Re: Power is a Prison

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She didn't seem all that impressed by his interpretation, although she was gracious enough to give it some extra thought. Woe examined her face, trying to discern how much older he really was than this one. He judged he had about half a decade on her, which became less of a factor the older they all became. At any rate, she was old enough to become a mage, but didn't appear to have the 'lived-in' hardiness that was so crucial to surviving an initiation. Woe only had one initiation to give at this stage, he felt, and so he had the discretion of picking and choosing who he wished to take as a student.

There was an awkward silence between the two of them for a trill, and Woe thought to make it less awkward by returning to what he'd been working on, the meditation to uncover the nature of a recently sensed rune. One that related to eyesight.

He'd sensed it a long way back in Viden, during a study session in his quarters in Aota's headquarters. But it had eluded him then as it did now.

The silence was broken rather abruptly when the woman began speaking again, and for one who introduced herself as one not likely to approach strangers, she was rather forthright with him. Woe wondered for a moment if he'd stepped out of line with his Empathy magics, and caused her to open up. Or perhaps that was a talent he now possessed?

In either event, it showed she was curious. But lacking sense to be speaking of such things openly in the middle of a silent library.

"Yes, I know how. You need to meet a mage, and somehow make them want to initiate you." He said simply. "And it's not something most mages I've met would impart for merely the promise of coin or pretty words." Since they were here, and they were already talking openly about magic, Woe supposed he'd play along. While his mutations perhaps weren't too obvious at his current stage of mutation, some people may get a inkling.

"Then again, some magi are more reckless and blithe about who they pass their spark onto, anyway." Woe smiled, as he looked down into his book, now not watching the woman anymore with his eyes. "Such ones don't survive for long as mages, I imagine. And their initiates are not well served for their lack of seriousness."

Regarding the language he was writing, he nodded, "Most wouldn't know what they mean. I'd wager most magi don't either." He continued scrawling on the pages, trying to suss out the shapes of the runic magic he was looking for.

She asked if he had a moment, and he stifled a cough. Well, ever one to be open and candid, he explained, "I've a few moments, most of which you've already spent, Kalypso. Is there anything else you have to ask me?"
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Re: Power is a Prison

☸☸☸

To sum up his demeanor it was simply busy, she felt her face flush a hot red the more he spoke. Her shoulders held all the weight of her thoughts as she rubbed the back of her neck. Anxiety was sinking in, this was past the realms of small talk and bather but at least she had been right-- he was a mage. His explanation of initiation was in theory simpler than what she expected. The word initiate had conjured up mental images of blood sacrifice and hazing but his description of others being blithe with it made her wonder further. She put her finger up to ask a question but set it back down, he finished speaking telling her he, of course, was busy and had only a few more moments to spare. These moments she would have to make count.

Wrapping her finger around her mouth she looked deeply pensive.
"Where are these mages found? Is there some sort of hovel or public gathering?"
She kept her voice down and lowered her eyes as a patron passed through the library behind the ma. Not introducing himself either she respected his privacy for now, but before departing she would ask him up front what his name was. Again someone passed behind her and she shifted in her seat uncomfortably, looking hard at the weird scrawling on the page in front of him. It made her wonder, if he would openly draw his strangeness on a page was it in poor taste to speak quietly about it in public? That was when she had an idea. It was risky and maybe he would get the wrong impression but she mulled it over before saying quietly,
"Would you like to get some tea with me in the Scholar's Nook at twilight? Today? I'm not sure if you're busy later, but I need to leave soon. I have some errands to run today but can be waiting for you at the top of the tower, it's usually quiet up there later in the day. We could be undisturbed and maybe I would have the honor to speak with you in length."
All hints of the previous smile were wiped from her face. It was an open invitation that was thinly veiled. She wanted to grill him about the magi he spoke of and should he accept she would likely write much of his words down.
"It seems sudden, even with your name still being a mystery to me. But I am being genuine and have nothing to hide."

This was far removed by the realms of her character, she was shook to her core. But the dynamite she felt being ignited around her, the unsureness of her footing, the feeling of freefalling made her feel lucky. Like a gambler. It wasn't giddy but instead like some sort of high from saying things that you know you shouldn't. Could she handle the disappointment if he didn't accept? That is, if what he said was true and he had knowledge of this initiation process. She had far too many questions to be rushed out of his way and thought the Scholar's Nook might be a good middle ground. Not to mention it was rude to disturb someone from their work.

word count: 554
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Woe cocked an eyebrow as she asked where the mages kept themselves. Hovels? "In my opinion, a mage would only live in such conditions if they either had to go into hiding, or perhaps prefer simple living." Woe shook his head, "They don't go announcing their presence, and they are well advised not to rush into things."

Woe was already reconsidering this venture, allowing his sparks to prompt him to seek out initiates. But he did want someone to teach, he just wasn't sure if this girl was the one. She seemed rather rushed to him, and excessively open about her intentions. While that wasn't entirely a bad thing in an initiate, he had to be sure she was able to exercise patience.

"I can teach you." Woe said, finally. However, he held up a finger, "Come find me in Egilrun, ask for Woe, someone will send you to the right location. Next Cycle, if you can wait?"

Woe shook his head at her invitation to tea, and smiled despite himself, "I regret I cannot make that appointment. I have to leave Scalvoris tonight, and was only waiting for my guide to show himself."

He looked at her thoughtfully, and shrugged, "I would like to teach you some more about magic, if you'd let me next Cycle. If not, then I wish you luck in your search for other mages." So saying, Woe began pushing out from his chair, then stood. He glanced in her direction, before leaving, "Remember, Egilrun, next Cycle." That is, if she was capable of waiting.

word count: 264
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Re: Power is a Prison

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Woe:

Knowledge:
Deception: x 2
Discipline: x 1
Investigation: x 2
Meditation: x 1
Psychology: x 4

Loot: -
Lost: -
Wealth: -
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Renown: -
Magic XP: -
Skill Review: Appropriate to level.
Points: 15
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Comments: I always find it interesting to read about Woe’s relationships with his different sparks. He seems to be somewhat ambivalent towards his magic, but he uses it quite frequently, nevertheless. I found it especially interesting that he thought of the initiation as an offering to satisfy the Gaoler. I don’t think I’ve ever read something like that before!

Kalypso seemed like a decent offering due to already being curious about magic. I appreciate that Woe didn’t just go ahead and offer to initiate her though, but considered whether she had what it took. In the review request you mentioned that this thread was “abandoned slightly”, but the ending worked well in my opinion. If you hadn’t mentioned it, I might not have noticed anything!

Enjoy your rewards!

P.S.: Kalypso, if you come back and let me know which skills you used and which knowledges you want, I’ll edit this review and give you your rewards!
word count: 194

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