• Closed • Gone (Cerys)

With the Warlock gone, Dromus is left to supervise her charge.

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Dromus
Posts: 12
Joined: Sun Mar 01, 2015 8:46 pm
Race: Hyludin
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Gone (Cerys)


TS: 87 Vhalar, 715
Setting: Seeker's Hideaway, Outside of Ne'haer

A breath pulled into Dromus', closed eyes seeing nothing more than the white-mottled darkness behind closed lids. A second breath brought the white to an end, the swirling fog dissipating further. Sitting crosslegged on the floor, the sorcerer felt the air about him, the cool caress of the wind whipping about his features. A third breath ceased the small, unconscious twitches of the young man's hands as they set on the floor. With two more breaths, the Seeker felt the world fade away, the ring adorning the third finger of his right hand the only sensation felt.

In his mind's eye, he could feel it as he reached out into the world, branching out not with his birth-given five senses, but a sixth that only a sorcerer could tap into. The ring pulsed, a swirling mist of presence coiling about his hand. In it, Dromus could sense the potential for more, the pull of Gravitation resonating in his chest as he delved deeper into the ring. Fifteen minutes had passed and Dromus had come to realize that he could delve no further into his understanding of the ring, stopped not by a lack of focus but his own inability to discern, to understand the mists and resonate with the information that they could provide.

However, Dromus did not lose heart. Rather, he kept, stubbornly, probing into the ring, attempting to pry through the eddying door to knowledge that the mists left closed to him. Given time, the mists turned solid, a ring surrounding the visage of the ring. Seeking to clutch at it, Dromus found that his reach only passed through it. Impatience began to surge through the Sorcerer, his focus beginning to wane as a 'tch' emitted from his lips. Followed by a scowl, Dromus was on the verge of losing the mist entirely, distracted moments later by another sensation. So similar to the ring, Dromus' focus shifted towards the new presence. Similar mists exuded from it, much larger and intense than his own. Within moments, the sorcerer drew to the conclusion that the mists revolved about a different conduit, a more advanced construct of arcane channeling, likely belonging to a higher-ranked sorcerer.

Curiosity overcame his desire to continue the exercise, the sorcerer's eyes opening to allow his gaze to travel upwards. He found that in the time he'd spent in his exercise, his body had grown clammy, wind buffeting along his form and unconscious shivers wracking his form. He rose to his feet, doing up the buttons of his jacket to shield himself from the cold as he found his gaze meeting that of a sorceress that the young man knew not by name, but by rank. She said nothing, merely shaking her head and placing a note in Dromus' hand before walking away. Dromus was quite at a loss as trembling fingers picked at the edges of the folded note. It took a moment for cold fingers to open the letter, though when he did he found his mentor's handwriting adorning the crinkled sheet.

-Look after Cerys for me. I'll be back before season's end. Be patient and report to me when I return if there are any... incidents.-

That's perfectly fine, I suppose...
the sorcerer thought to himself as he fell into step.

He'd, of course, have to find the Empath first, though it was never truly a difficult talk to undertake. The signs were already there. Neophytes gathered in bunches when their mentors were busy with other tasks. In this Hideaway in particular, the Neophytes gathered and consciously, aggressively avoided one particular one, a young woman with an uncanny tendency to be extremely unnerving to the weak. Once Dromus found the other Neophytes, it was simple enough to begin his search for the isolated one.


Fools. They flee from something they do not understand. No matter, Roslyn entrusts me with her because I'm simply the best of them. Take it as a compliment, not as a chore.
word count: 695
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Cerys
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Joined: Sun Mar 01, 2015 9:02 pm
Race: Human
Profession: Neophyte
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Gone (Cerys)


Today, more than any day which had come before, Cerys was questioning why she had been forced to leave the loving comfort of her family to travel to Ne’haer. They had said that it was because of the arcana she was studying, that - with Tomás gone - she needed a new teacher to guide her. The young empath had never believed that; she was powerful enough to be elevated to the rank of Acolyte now, and had no idea why she was being passed over. If Venser had only agreed to see and judge her himself, she might never have had to leave Viden.

But she had been told that he refused, if they had even genuinely passed her message on to the Inquisitor. And Roslyn, apparently Roslyn was the only Warlock in all of Idalos with the necessary skills and willingness to take on a new charge. This was another thing that Cerys found hard to stomach, for she had learnt that Dromus was not an Empath; he didn’t even really know what Empathy was! How could Roslyn train another to Acolyte in one discipline, but be good enough in a second discipline to take on a near-Acolyte mentee? Worse. The damned woman was not even here. It had been less than a Cycle and Roslyn had left again.

Cerys’ rage at her situation was unavoidable to everyone else in the Seekers’ Hideout. This time, the bitter girl had actively chosen to inflict her misery on as many people as possible, and she had spent the entire first day stalking through the common areas of the Hideout, causing disruption to all activities around her. On the second, a visiting Sorcerer had taken charge and ordered her to meditate in one of the unoccupied clearings, telling her not to return until he had joined her later to check her progress. Cerys valued her ring enough obey the senior member, and that was where the girl found herself now, a number of hours later, listening to the rustle of falling leaves and the faint chirping of the remaining birds.

As she sat there, face scrunched up, as always her mind began to wander. She considered returning to the Sorcerer and throwing her conduit at him and demanding access to her savings in order to gain passage back to Viden. But even in her furious state she knew traveling so far north this close to the coldest seasons was a fool’s errand. She also considered petitioning to meet with Ne’haer’s Inquisitor. But, again, if Venser Rush (who at least knew who she was) wouldn't see her, then this stranger certainly would not.

The sound of trills had faded, until Cerys had to strain to hear them. The Empath sighed and opened her eyes, staring blankly at the long grass in front of her for a few moments. Even the stupid, ignorant animals sensed enough to avoid her today. No wonder the man had sent her away. Cerys shuffled, making herself slightly more comfortable and shifted her cloak over her shoulders again before closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, this time making an attempt in earnest to calm her thoughts and, thus, her emotions.

word count: 548
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Dromus
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Gone (Cerys)


As the Acolyte trudged forward, the slight chill passing through him as he at last stepped outside, he noted the visage of a Sorcerer that he had conversed with at length once. It was at least a year ago, though he'd of course seen the sorcerer pass through with his neophyte, discussing matters of an arcana that the Acolyte had not yet been exposed to. Seeing Dromus approach, the sorcerer held up his hands in warning, shaking his head as he spoke, "No, that Empath is over there. Turn away if you know what's good for you."

While Dromus was not versed in Empathy, he was one to notice the fear in others. He could discern in it the sorcerer's eyes, though he did not miss the revulsion there, as well. So many seemed to hate and fear the Empath, who Dromus considered an amusing being, dangerous, though there was no Sorcerer in the Hideaway who could claim to be perfectly safe. It was simply the fact that Cerys, unlike the other Neophytes that were charged in the Ne'haer Hideaway, was a skilled individual, her arcana powerful and volatile to behold.

But for Dromus, such power was so... interesting. It was why the sorcerer did not mind in the slightest that he was to babysit this person. He wanted to observe her, befriend her. However, this was not the time to dwell upon such a thing. Dromus looked the Sorcerer in the eye, his head shaking as he placed the note he had received from Roslyn in the other man's hand.

"
Fortunately, my friend, you aren't the one placed in charge of her. I, on the other hand, have the distinct pleasure of doing so. I've met Cerys before, I assure you that I will be fine."

It was in the nature of Dromus to exude confidence, and it was a thing that provided the sorcerer with a significant degree of advantage when dealing with his superiors. His equals met his arrogance with mixed results, some finding it infuriating while others admired the sorcerer in turn. To Dromus, it didn't really matter how the sheep of the Hideaway reacted to him. All that mattered was if those in the seats of power, the important and influential, considered him one to keep about. And other, certain people, were to be pulled to his side, as well.

Perhaps Cerys was one of those people.

For the moment, however, Dromus stepped past the Sorcerer, leaving him behind as at last he advanced towards the grassy area that it seemed Cerys had become partial to. Making his way forward, he sat himself next to the sorceress without speaking. He did not immediately look at the woman, either, instead allowing his attention to drift along the expanse of the grassy knoll that they had both taken to occupying. A breath pulled into the sorcerer's lungs as he turned to face Cerys at last. He could tell that she was attempting to loose herself of tension. What the source of it was did not matter to the sorcerer, who immediately decided that he was to help the woman along.

Turning his body, Dromus seated himself directly across from Cerys, reaching forward for both of her hands. The entire time, he did not speak, merely letting a breath pull into his lungs, a slow, exaggerated motion. He'd sit up straight, crossing his legs and decreasing the distance between himself and the Empath. He could feel the arcana that she seemed to subconsciously throw about her, but he did not focus on it. Rather, he loosed another breath from his lungs, taking another deep breath as he let his eyes draw to a close.
word count: 634
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