• Graded • Fire and Ice [Dromus]

[Cerys]

4th Day of Ymiden
Arc 715

The Seeker's Hideout in Ne'haer was nothing like the facilities in Viden. True, the one situated in her homeland had not been large and ornate... or even necessarily clean, but here it was filthy. And cramped. The rooms comprised four bunk beds for sweaty, unruly children also learning the arcane arts, and one of these rooms was where Cerys Yvarye had finally ended her long and arduous journey from the arctic tundra of the Northern Region. That was six days ago, and none could rouse the young woman from her bed, much less remove her from the room.

Not that many tried; the girl's magic, so rarely the focus of her previous apprenticeship, was just barely controlled under the upheaval of her recent losses and travel. Tomás had been more than just a mentor to Cerys - he had eventually become something of a seventh father to her, after her own, and all of her brothers. His loss, though expected, came as no less of a shock. The night of the Warlock's death saw her removal from her family home too, for fear of what the bereavement could do to the Empath. Days later, with barely any human companionship, Cerys had been carted from the city without being allowed the chance to bid her family farewell.

Already close to the edge, this loss ripped her wounds open anew, and the days that followed saw the girl's first - though unconscious - use of active Empathy. Overwhelmed by her own despair and pain, she was completely oblivious to the fact that any who ventured near were also in danger of being crippled by the threads of emotion that radiated away from her unchecked. This continued once reaching Ne'haer, and even the girls who shared a room with her refused to enter it unless their new roommate was asleep... for that was the only time that a calmness seemed to descend upon the Videnese girl, enough that they could not feel it.

The other Neophytes did not understand what was going on, of course. They all had the studies of a specific branch of Arcana to attend to, and they were not offered the chance to look much further, except in passing conversation with each other. None dared to ask the girl what she was doing. All they knew was that it was her causing this singular, random pain on one of them. The senior members of the Seekers could offer no advice, nor were they able to stop it. One who could had been away for a few days, believing that Cerys would not arrive to the city so early. It was this same woman, named Roslyn, who now entered the lonely room.

Instantly, she was met by what was best described as a wall of heat, as if entering a sauna. This physical sensation was joined by the barrage of threads emanating, completely uncontrolled, across the room. It took a moment for the most experienced woman to compose herself, as she let the emotions wash over her, rather than be affected by them. Only then was she able to focus and see the hunched form of her new apprentice. It was a snap decision, one that was not advised, to use her own empathetic influence on the girl before approaching her. The girl's head lifted slightly, sensing a change in her own psyche: one from anger and despair to a cool calmness. It was a gradual change, but noticeable nonetheless... and strong enough that it was welcome.

"Artificially generating your own pain for everyone else to feel with you will not make ease your own suffering, Cerys." The woman's tone was soft and smooth, much like the waves of calmness that continued to exude from her as she stepped further into the room, towards the occupied bunka. The girl's eyes narrowed ever so slightly as her mind became slightly more rational and she was able to process what her senses were experiencing. "Roslyn?"

The woman nodded as she rounded the bed to sand in front of the Neophyte, "I am sorry I was not here to greet you upon arrival." The girl said nothing in response, only inclining her head slightly. Roslyn took the opportunity to examine the girl she had taken on so suddenly. Her own use of the art receded, and she picked carefully at the various threads Cerys was unwittingly offering her for examination. To her surprise, Roslyn found an unprecedented amount of resentment among the normally more powerful emotions. Finally, she said, "Come, I cannot hold you under my influence forever. You must learn to process these stronger disturbances for, whether they be yours or another's, they will affect you, and you must have the resistance to overcome them."

For a moment, Cerys considered refusing the Warlock's request, but the expression on the older woman's face told her that she would accept no petulance from her apprentice. With a drawn out, possibly even dramatic, sigh, Cerys pulled herself up to stand and followed Roslyn out of the hovel she had been hidden away in for the past six days. "I suppose you want me to meditate or something." The girl muttered, all of her mother's teachings of propriety slipping away from her as she displayed how clearly adverse she was to the idea.

"Yes, I do," Roslyn replied firmly as she led her charge out of the building and around the right, where a quiet clearing lay nestled amongst some trees. She knew they were unlikely to be disturbed here, as Cerys needed peace to practice. "There is no easy route to learning Empathy, Cerys. This branch of Arcana has a will of its own, and seeks to destroy any who attempt to master it. In order to learn, and to avoid falling to it, you must understand the limits of your own control." In the middle of the clearing, Roslyn turned to face her apprentice, features soft but firm. "From the reports I hear of others' experiences over the past few days, you do not yet know these limits."

[Dromus]

Darkness hung about the Ne'haer hideaway, and though none could identify with certainty what the disturbance was, many of the Neophytes believed a curse to have taken hold of them all. A curse given form as a young woman. Gloom hovered about the minds of each of the Neophytes first, and though Dromus had spent much of the day outside of the Hideaway, left to his own devices in the midst of his greater development, he could feel it as he returned. A frown pursed his lips as he set into the Commons, finding the room far more cramped than usual, the sorcerer found two groups of three Neophytes and two Sorcerers presiding over them. They were engaged in a discussion revolving around Gravitation, something that Dromus was quite versed in. Listening to the conversation as it ensued, the Acolyte held his tongue as teachers asked of their group a question,

"When attempting to Push, what is the most necessary component?"

"Absorbing Arcana?"
"Holding your conduit?"

The Acolyte held in a laugh, shaking his head as he listened to each of the six give an incorrect answer. Holding himself to the entrance, Dromus said nothing, nodding his head towards the higher-ranked Sorcerers, a smile parting his lips. The sorcerer was by no means a powerful sorcerer, though his steadfast desire to discuss and learn had earned the Acolyte a reputation within the Hideaway. While one Sorcerer dominated in the teaching of the lesson, the other looked to Dromus, a curious expression set upon his features as he asked,

"Are you waiting to supply an answer?"

Dromus was, in fact. The Acolyte was one who enjoyed showing off what he knew. He relished the opportunity to be looked upon as a guide, for in a place where knowledge held weight, being a source of it held potential. Nodding his head, the Acolyte's lips parted to speak,

"Having one's conduit and attracting Arcana in order to utilize it are important, yes. However, given that the discipline of Gravitation works with forces that consistently work against it, belief is necessary. Belief in one's abilities, but more so, belief in the possibility of the object moving. And with it, the absolute resolve that you as a sorcerer are capable of moving it."

There was no need for a demonstration, and Dromus had no desire to do so. The room the Seekers were in was cramped as is, and demonstrating the discipline of Gravitation was unsavoury. Rather, Dromus politely took his leave of the group, making his way to the other side of the Commons, where a door led towards the back of the Hideaway. There, Dromus would find a place to practice peacefully. However, this would not come to be. As he progressed, the sorcerer heard the all-too-familiar voice of his former mistress, Roslyn Havel. It was impossible to miss, the subtle carry of her words, a gentleness that few of the Sorcerers in this place could emulate. Yet, the words she spoke revolved about a topic he knew nothing of. Dromus' mentor had obviously hidden something from him, though based upon the remainder of the conversation, the sorcerer was glad of it.

Empathy.

An Arcana? The Acolyte had heard nothing about it in the several arcs he had spent within the bounds of the Seekers, yet Roslyn discussed it with another so plainly. Was she a practitioner? A potential learner? Clearly a Neophyte by the way Roslyn spoke to her, the questions materialized within Dromus' mind, unfettered by any kind of distraction. Dromus did not make his presence known for some time, staying far enough from the two to feel none of the threads or exposure to Empathy that carried about the room. Far enough that his eavesdropping, hopefully, would remain a secret. However, he made his presence known soon enough. Moments after the woman finished speaking, Dromus knocked upon the closed door, his fingers circling the knob and pulling to find the visage of two women, one familiar, and one entirely new.

"A transfer?" he asked, looking upon the woman to find a silver ring, incredibly similar to his own. Clearly a conduit, it led Dromus to the conclusion that this woman was already a Neophyte, information only supported by the discussion he had unwittingly involved himself in. The Acolyte, however, rather than show his surprise or let show the fact that he had been eavesdropping, immediately stepped into a different mindset. Moving forward, Dromus smiled at Roslyn, bowing slightly to his mentor before turning to face the Neophyte,

"A pleasure to meet you. My name is Dromus. May I have the pleasure of learning yours?"

Keep calm, assess the situation and attempt to learn without making it clear that you are prying for information.

[Cerys]

Sat on the grass, the pair of women were far enough away from the main compound that all Cerys could hear was the sounds of nature. The wind whistling though the trees, the distant sound of bird song. That was something new for Cerys; birds were not a common feature of Viden and the general surrounding are of the arctic tundra. Not many animals were, to be honest. They were sparse enough that one was rarely exposed to wild animals. Not that she had ever left the walled limits of her home city - far too cold. And what would she do anyway? Go for a nice walk in the -

“You’re not focusing.”

The sound of her new Mistress’ voice broke the monotony of listening to nature and Cerys made no effort to hold back the huff ad she slumped forward from her previously uncomfortable position, “Yes I have!” she replied with a distinctly frustrated tone. She hated this. It was completely unnecessary! The only way she would learn to control her magic would be to use it… not this bullshit meditation.

“No, you’re not.” It was a tone that broke no argument, though Cerys continued to glare furiously at the older woman. Stubbornness was be biggest fault, and Tomás constantly felt the need to remind and rebuke her of it. “I can see it in your expression. Sitting in silence isn’t enough, Cerys. You must clear your mind, allow sensations to drift away.” Clearly this woman was no different to her former Master. She growled.

“Cerys, you are endangering not only yourself, but everyone around you with your lack of control. A volatile Empath does not mesh well with building full of other users of Arcana, most of whom are also students. If you do not learn to discipline yourself, I will have no choice but to confiscate your conduit.” Eyes wide, the incensed Neophyte opened her mouth to return with one of many witty retorts in her repertoire, but she was interrupted by a new arrival.

Pale blue orbs averted their glare from the Warlock and turned instead, with an intense ferocity, to the man. He was young - not much older than she was… perhaps early twenties, if she were to take a guess. Tall, with dark hair and dark eyes, he had a welcoming expression, kind… nice. Cerys couldn’t help but feel some of her previous anger slip away as she studied the appearance of the charming young man stood before her.

Glad for the opportunity to make a point by overtly disobeying her new Mistress, Cerys uncrossed her legs and gracefully rose to her feet, dress falling in neat pleats to brush against the grass. Rudely, she ignored the etiquette that had been drilled into her when she had first been inducted into The Seekers, and turned her back on Roslyn, giving all of her attention to the new arrival. “Cerys,” she replied, a small smile playing on her lips as she mirrored what she imagined to be genuine kindness from Dromus.

For the first time since arriving, the tendrils of emotion that had been drifting unchecked away from the girl were no longer present. He would feel none of her power, except perhaps a barely noticeable coil of pleasure radiating off of her. It was subtle enough that the Acolyte might not even register the easiness that would wash over him as a result of her empathetic influence.

“I arrived a few days ago from Viden.” A small part of her felt the need to extend her conversation, to something along the lines of ‘I haven’t seen you around here..’ but that would be ridiculous, for she would then be forced to answer her own statement with an explanation that she had effectively barricaded herself in her dormitory room through arcane means; apparently only Roslyn had the ability to combat the Empathy, thus she had been left to her own devices.

[Dromus]

The Acolyte knew it unwise to interrupt Roslyn as she attempted to tutor a student, though previous experience with the Warlock and an unbidden curiosity compelled him to stay before the Neophyte and her new mistress. Dromus couldn't quite help the chuckle that escaped his lips as Cerys ignored the older woman entirely, placing her attention anew on the Acolyte.

Cerys.

The name, like his own, was quite unusual. Alongside the name, the woman spoke with an accent that hinted at a long journey on her part. Dromus had never been exposed to a grand measure of education before being recruited into the Seekers, and though his geography was not quite polished, he could assume that the accent was an eastern one.

Simple process of elimination. Hiladrith, Etzos and Ne'haer do not expose their township to such a lovely tone.

However right or wrong the Acolyte was, however, was unnecessary. However, clearly fate found it fitting that Cerys prove him correct. A smile marked Dromus' features as he extended his arm, taking Cerys' hand in his own before raising it to his lips. "Ah, a pleasure. I am from Hiladrith, myself. Until recently, I was under the care of our beloved Warlock, as well."

Dromus cast a grin towards his former mentor, the woman pursing her lips in apparent frustration. Roslyn's fingers moved to press into the bridge of her nose, a sign of her attempting to siphon off the stress that the situation had inflicted upon her. "Have it your way, Cerys. Perhaps a day to clear your mind will better prepare you for what's to come than what I had in mind."

After speaking to the Neophyte, Roslyn turned her attention to Dromus. Words were not spoken immediately, the woman instead giving him a rather queer look before scribbling onto a piece of paper and approaching Dromus to give it to him. Whispered words followed, "Be careful," before Roslyn left the two to their own devices, making her way towards the Hideaway commons and the few Neophytes that had their faces pressed to the windows.

Dromus paid it no mind. Instead, he'd direct his attention fully to the Empath, the easy smile lingering upon his features as his gaze lowered towards the note he'd been given,

Give her a tour. Stray away from any sort of intimate conversation.

A shrug moved the Acolyte's shoulders, deeming it best to heed his former mistress' instructions, for the moment, as he looked towards Cerys.

"Has anyone showed you around?" he asked, curiosity fixed into his gaze. Roslyn's instructions struck him as odd, though it gave him a reason to keep to this woman. Was she dangerous? Powerful? A Neophyte had never attracted so much attention in the Ne'haer Hideaway, yet Cerys seemed to unwittingly command it. Such a presence was impossible to ignore, and Dromus, more than anything wanted to learn the cause.

What are you, woman?

The smile did not fade, the ease did not falter, and Dromus motioned with a flick of his head that they begin walking, keeping hold of Cerys' hand for a calculated moment longer than necessary before releasing it and beginning the walk, expecting her to follow him.

Dromus would take Cerys first to the wards. Curious looking things, they were a part of the Hideaway, while by no means unique to this particular Hideaway, always inspired a sense of awe from the Acolyte. The ability to warp one's perception of reality, the discipline of Illusionism, was one Dromus had not yet been exposed to, for Roslyn was not an Illusionist, though one day he vowed that its knowledge would be his.

"Are you enjoying Ne'haer, Cerys?" he asked, to break the silence.

[Cerys]

It was easy to ignore the Warlock, or even to forget her existence, as the wine-adorned Acolyte took her hand gently in his own and raised it to his lips. They were soft and warm against her hand, as they pressed down for a mere second or two, and Cerys’ smile grew ever so slightly at the welcome attention that she was receiving. Again, unknown to her, and to the young man before her, threads of contentment, bordering on pleasure, radiated from the girl, like soft velvet, caressing their unknown target.

Making her first conscious effort in using Empathy since arriving in Ne’haer, Cerys dimly recognised what appeared to be something close to a mirror of her own emotions in the boy, Dromus he said his name was. The girl became aware of what her magic was doing, though she could not understand how she was doing it. It was what she was feeling, why would she try to make another feel it? How did she stop it? She could… project empathetic strings?

Ultimately, though, she decided that it might not necessarily be a bad thing if she was able to use arcane means to persuade this attractive boy to be a companion in this horrible place. So far, he was the only person who did not look at Cerys in fear and draw away as if she was a leper. Week, other than Roslyn of course, but the Neophyte had only spent half an hour in her new Mistress’ company and she already didn’t like her. So there was no way that she would turn to the woman and ask the new questions that were now burning inside her about this revelation of projecting.

Cerys bristled when said woman spoke to her, her tone clipped and clearly impatient with her newest charge. “Perhaps a day without the constant nagging from senior members whose lives are so boring that they need to intrude on mine will allow me to - what was it? Clear my mind.” she muttered in return as she watched the woman write something down on a scrap of parchment. Cerys overheard the other woman’s whispered words to Dromus, but her attention was on the scrap piece of paper.

“Shown me around? No one can bare to be in the same room as me, much less being in my company for extended periods of time.” There was a distinctly sullen tone to the young woman’s words and, as if the air grew colder, the mood shifted almost imperceptibly to match the girl’s self-pity. Though it was not enough to overpower Cerys’ enjoyment at being spoken to in the same manner that she would be at home, rather than as if she were some spoilt brat.

The cold air that licked her skin when Dromus eventually let go of her hand was uncomfortable; the sudden change from stagnant warmth to cool breeze reminded her of first stepping outside in Viden. As she followed after him, she rubbed at her hand, trying to get rid of the sweatiness that lingered from the other’s extended touch.

A silence fell over the pair as they walked. But Cerys, with a large family network, was unused to silences, thus did not know if it was a comfortable one or not. Tentatively, she probed out, targeting the Acolyte before her. It was not much of a surprise that she found a lingering curiosity within him, and in her pride she imagined that said curiosity was directly related to her. The Empath was taken aback, then, when Dromus’ next question was a tame one… worse, one that she had already answered. Instead of replying, she asked, petulantly, “What was on the piece of paper?”

[Dromus]

Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. Each passing moment gave the Acolyte a greater insight into the newcomer to the Hideaway. Petulance was an obvious theme, as was an obvious distaste for authority. When Roslyn walked away, it was clear that the Neophyte's mood improved, though it quickly faded in favour of what the sorcerer perceived to be suspicion. The very notion of it was almost laughable. Alienating one's only connection within the Hideaway was clearly a move left to a being owned by fear. By rage. Emotions of such a violent variety were poisons that seeped into the mind, cluttering it, weakening it, and the sorcerer was with each moment losing interest in this woman as a person.

Though, as a resource, perhaps she could be utilized. However, such a thing required for the Acolyte to dissolve her suspicions. Honesty, in this situation, was perhaps his greatest asset.

My words will only turn her against Roslyn, after all.

Lips parted as words formed, Dromus' throat rumbling with the cadence in his tone as he pressed forward. The sorcerer's lips pressed to Cerys' ear as he placed the slip of paper in her hand,

"Roslyn believes that you aren't stable enough to have a deeper conversation with."

The words were candid, his tone sincere. There was no need to be anything else in this moment, for 'playing politics' as most of the intelligent Seekers did with their superiors was unnecessary. Cerys was a Neophyte, a learner. and it was beneath Dromus to attempt to curry her favour through demeaning himself or flattery.

Bow your head to your superiors until the day comes that they bow their heads to you. However, with the lower rungs, allow one's charisma to flow freely and captivate them with logic spun on a foundation of perfection.

A smile cast upon the Acolyte's lips as he held Cerys' gaze, the Acolyte taking nary a moment's pause before he added,

"I, however, see more than she does. Perhaps you can prove Roslyn wrong."

Simple words carried through an easy tone. Deliberately keeping himself calm, Dromus veiled his feelings, tempering them. Resolution carried within his mind, intent materializing within. The Acolyte then decided to steer the conversation in a new direction, gesturing towards the space beneath a nearby tree, covered from the sun and far from the prying eyes of his and Cerys' peers.

"Sit with me, Cerys," he asked of her, settling himself on the floor. He'd clip a single blade of grass, holding it between his fingers as he leaned back, setting his spine against the ground as his gaze traced what was visible of the sky.

[Cerys]

A scowl - something that was an almost permanent feature on Cerys’ face - settled once again in place as she was informed of what Roslyn thought of her, of what the Warlock had passed on to this unknown boy. How dare she? How dare she, after having ignored her for days and spent less than an hour in the Neophyte’s company… how dare she assume to know what Cerys could and couldn’t handle? As if she knew… as if she had any idea of what the girl was capable of.

Stubborn pride did nothing to hold the anger at bay, and it surged forward, overwhelming Cerys’ previous attempts at projecting companionable pleasure towards the man beside her. That would now be replaced by weak, haphazard flecks of something bordering close to irritation, though it wasn’t far from the true anger that the girl was barely able to keep in check… for a sliver of rationale inside her warned her against both unleashing that upon her unsuspecting companion, and announcing the nature of her gift so forcefully. She said nothing in response as she breathed deeply: the only form of ‘meditation’ that she had any faith in.

But the Acolyte’s next words had a remarkable effect on the Neophyte. She wasn’t foolish enough to blindly believe that this man would ignore his former Mistress’ words of warning (however misplaced) for the sake of a girl he didn’t know… but… for the moment, at least, she wanted to pretend as if she had the man’s unbridled trust, and she allowed herself to believe the words unconditionally. The irritability, once again, sank away as she lowered herself to the ground, adjacent to Dromus. “Roslyn was your Mistress too, right?”

Though her vocabulary was common, her tone was anything but: clipped and precise, even Dromus - who was undoubtedly unfamiliar with her accent - would be able to not the finesse and perfected elocution accompanying each word. She came from good stock, even wealth… and here she was, ripped from her home and forced to live in what was best described as a hovel. All for the sake of retaining a stupid ring. “Has she always been this…” she paused, searching her mind for an appropriate word to sum up every judgement she had made of the Warlock in their short meeting… she failed. “Distasteful?”

“Tomás - he was my Master in Viden - he would… he was always so patient with me. You cannot learn if there is no respect between master and apprentice, and respect is only gained through knowledge of each other.” The loss of Tomás hurt more than she cared to admit. “I will prove her wrong because it is evident that the woman knows next to nothing about me.”

Whilst Dromus was gentle and singular in the removal of grass from the ground, Cerys began to pull at the blades indiscriminately, releasing them the instant she had pulled them free of their roots, only to grab another fistful seconds later. When she spoke again, her tone was sullen, but half-hearted “I bet she doesn’t even know Empathy, that’s why she’s so insistent on all the meditation bull.” Even as she said it, she knew she didn’t believe it: they would never have made her traverse the entirely of Idalos to be apprenticed to someone useless. But it hurt that the Warlock had so easily dismissed her new apprentice.

[Dromus]

More and more, the Acolyte was able to discern the nature of the woman before him. Her arcana seemed more akin to a representation of her own unbalance rather than a tool to be manipulated. The idea of arcana having the potential to be so raw, so unpolished, was almost frightening to the sorcerer. How could such arcane influence transform? What was its potential? Dromus already knew what he would be able to do. To topple buildings, to bring ruin to offenders, to protect and defend. The power of Gravitation was straight-forward, and while intensive, was by no means complex. Attunement was a different force altogether. To learn the nature of the arcane was a privilege that the sorcerer was grateful to have, the ability to breach farther and delve deeper a new concept to him, but treasured nonetheless.

But this?

This... Empathy that Cerys possessed was clearly on a different plane. Best compared to what little the sorcerer knew of Illusionism, he had not the vaguest clue what progression this power could encourage. And it enthralled the Acolyte. While Roslyn, if she knew the discipline, clearly kept it controlled and unknown, Cerys let it be understood quite quickly that through intervention, her path could take a very distinct turn. A turn that Dromus would personally oversee, if from afar. The flecks of irritation washed over the Acolyte, felt and unnerving in their own right, but the sorcerer was far too involved in his own thoughts. Eagerness, curiosity. A mixture of the two manifested within the sorcerer's mind until he allowed his feelings to dim, to coalesce and fester within his mind as the personable facade that the Acolyte wore in front of his colleagues manifested once more.

Mistress?

Dromus was not a slave, and while at times he did bow his head to those above him, the term mistress was an offense that did not fail to rattle the sorcerer. Fingers flexed, the only sign of his irritation as the sorcerer shook his head, "Roslyn was my mentor. My personal recommendation, Cerys, would be to never address a teacher as Master. The exchange shackles one to a single source for knowledge, sustenance, and acceptance. Whereas a teacher is but one entity out of many. A Master... is something quite distinct."

The words came out nearly unwarranted, yet their meaning was clear. A smile cast upon the Acolyte's lips as he moved past the words, instead dwelling upon the woman's anecdote. Viden. The place was unfamiliar, but she continued to reference it, giving a clear importance to the city in her mind. Dromus merely nodded, listening to the story without interruption until the point came where Cerys shifted to her next point. "Roslyn is incredibly knowledgeable, but rather short-sighted. I've heard stories about her, from the visiting Inquisitor when I arrived here... She was a prodigy. A genius in multiple fields of Arcana. Yet... she forsook everything upon reaching Warlock. She has very little ambition, though as a source, she is very useful."

A hand rose to meet Cerys' jaw for a moment, a familiar touch despite the two being little more than strangers, "Have patience. The time will come when you are no longer bound to a superior." Removing his hand from Cerys' jaw, Dromus reached for a nearby clump that Cerys had abandoned. Holding it gingerly in his palm, he allowed his will to branch forth. Arcana stirred about the sorcerer's conduit as he began to speak once again, "There will come a time," he began. Raw Arcana flowed into the Acolyte's conduit, Dromus filtering it, purifying it and moulding it in accordance to his will. Tipping his hand downward, he then flicked his wrist, releasing the clump and subsequently releasing the Arcana he had gathered. Force burst forth from the conduit, striking the clump. Upon contact, the dirt dispersed, the clump dispersing immediately as it lost constitution, reduced to nothingness as grass twirled in the air, only to fall to the ground. "Where you can learn to control your abilities. And from then on, you alone delve forth on a journey for knowledge. That is what an Acolyte is. Strive for it, Cerys. Then, you'll be proving Roslyn wrong."

[Cerys]

A frown fell upon the naïve, young Neophyte’s face as she tried to unravel her new companion’s words. She could not fathom why he would put so much stock in any words, including labels. It made no sense to her, for what power could there be in a mere name, unless you decided to give it power? That, then, would be your own fault, surely? That you placed so much stead in something so… ultimately unimportant? Cerys, in her ignorance, vowed to herself not to be so weak-minded that she would do such things, but nodded all the same in response, letting the matter drop.

“She can’t be that good if she has no will to excel, beginner prodigy or not.” The sullen tone was still present as the girl spoke, staring daggers into the grass that she was mercilessly ripping away from the ground and leaving as discarded blades in front of her. Surprisingly, however, this violent exercise was doing more for her mood than any amount of meditation had ever done for her in the past. This needless act of violence upon the nature of Ne’haer - the constant, repetitive, unconscious movement of her fingers - was more soothing and relaxing than sitting still and clearing her thoughts ad trying to think of nothingness.

Her tone was angry, yes, but her mood was slowly dissipating as a focal point, thus also causing the magical aura, the threads of her empathy, to slowly be reeled in. It was gradual, but the change would be noticeable to her companion if he himself was calm and focused enough to remain observant to the subtleties of her unique arcane abilities. “She’s… I came all this way - left my family behind - because they told me she was the only person free to continue my apprenticeship. And for what?” She began to rip the already shorn blades of grass in two, creating more carnage in front of her.

“So that I could live with a bunch of stuck up… halfwits who care for nothing but gossip. I would swear that every time I’m near them, I can feel my brain cells slitting their non-existent wrists in an attempt to save me from the drivel that I am forced to endure.” Cerys shook her head, shivering in remembrance of the last few days since her arrival. She was exaggerating, of course, for none, except Dromus, had willingly chosen to remain for an extended period in Cerys’ company. “I was supposed to pass out from being a Neophyte within a year or two Tomás told me. I had not yet long to go until my apprenticeship was complete.”

Cerys scowled, a high pitched cry of frustration escaping her lips as she threw the blades of grass in her hand away from her, her frustration only mounting as the blades only traveled about a foot and a half away. “You saw how Roslyn treated me! How how quickly she abandoned me to you! She doesn’t care! I’ll never be free of her constant, reluctant, suffocating but all-encompassingly useless supervision!”

OOC: Made up a word there but couldn't think of what I wanted you use.. so let's pretend I'm not a failure at English and that is was all an IC mistake!

[Dromus]

The Acolyte could no longer contain his curiosity. Perhaps, in her anxiety, Cerys would fail to notice it as the sorcerer in her presence began to go silent. Eyes did not close, his gaze did not wander, though still, Dromus began to breach into the midst of the arcana that surrounded them. Stronger, perhaps, in the Hideaway than it would be in a place of less arcane significance, the sorcerer found the connection with the raw arcana to wax with each moment. As Cerys began to speak, Dromus nodded politely, the smile glazed upon his expression as he felt the familiar pressure build behind his eyes. One blink was all it took for the transition to ensue, and when eyes open, Dromus found the sight that awaited him to be... odd.

What could only be compared to as threads thrashed about wildly, breaching outwards from Cerys -- the source. Dromus saw as the threads lashed upon his own body, the sorcerer doing all he could to not flinch, keeping his ground near the sorceress. One would usually find their understanding grow as they synchronized with arcana, utilizing the discipline of Attunement to find their way in the chaos of the world about them. However, in this moment, all that Dromus knew for certain was fear. The thrashing threads of arcana frightened the Acolyte, an unfamiliar, violent outburst of sensation cast upon him as the Neophyte before him inflicted endless violence upon not only the ground, but it seemed that those about her would suffer, as well.

However, the chaos came to an end soon after, Dromus failing to notice the skyrocketing of his pulse until the throbbing pain in his head informed him that blood had pounded through his skull. Sweat had begun to crease at the sorcerer's brow, his jaw slightly agape as he attempted to collect himself, something that the sorcerer did with relative ease. The pounding came to an end as Cerys began to spew insult after insult, directing all of them at the inhabitants of the Hideaway. Clearly, this one wasn't looking to make friends. However, the Acolyte sincerely doubted that even if she were willing, that she would be even capable of befriending a soul at the Hideaway.

She's a freak... That arcana is clearly ruining her mind...

The connection to the ambiance of arcana about Dromus was dismissed, the sorcerer withdrawing himself from the, admittedly, fading nature of the threads to instead direct his attention fully to the woman and the words that fell from her lips. Frustration. Anger. The feeling of betrayal. The sorceress before Dromus was already so polluted, impregnated with the amalgamation of emotions that could lead to the ruin of others. Yet, for her particular case...

Are they making her stronger? Are the very sentiments that alienate her from others the ones that cause her potency to wax?

The idea was... foreign to the sorcerer, who had always believed in restraint and control to be the cornerstones of his own ascension. And yet, how different the paths to power were. Fledgling plans began to manifest within the sorcerer's mind, the fear turning to ambition, disgust turning to a manifestation of desire.

"Then transcend her, Cerys. Complaints will resolve nothing as one seeks to gain control of their situation. If your ways disagree with Roslyn's, then ascend past the need for her tutelage. Some of the very half-wits you've so callously insulted are your betters. A few of them have already lost the need for a babysitter."

In the midst of his fear, Dromus found the saving grace, the reason why the woman before him was, as of yet, not a threat.

Her mind was weak.

With an amused chuckle, the sorcerer took to his feet, a hand moving to brush at the blades of grass that clung to his form.

"We've wasted enough time out here. I have things to do, and it seems that you need to accompany me."

A smirk cast upon Dromus' lips as he began to make his way back towards the Hideaway, walking slowly enough for Cerys to pursue him as his thoughts went to the archives. Dromus needed to advance, lest other, lesser beings usurp the mantles that he planned to claim.

"
"Colour One"
"Colour Two"
"Colour Three"