• Closed • Unremarkable [Dromus]

[Cerys]

87th Day of Zi'da
Arc 715

The walk between Ne'haer and the Seekers' Hideaway had seemed a lot longer all those Suns ago, when Cerys had first arrived from Viden. Before, grief had still weighed heavily on the young woman, and the journey had been too long, the last stretch feeling the longest. This morning, however, Cerys' spirits were higher than they had been since she arrived in Western Idalos. Rising early this morning, Cerys had decided to take a gander into the city, as she had no yet had the chance to explore it. Roslyn would not approve, she knew. But Rosyln was not here. And Dromus, who had been her only friend here, well he was busy today. He wouldn't mind, so kind and understanding that he was.

Nevertheless, Cerys had not wanted to run into another senior member of the Cell, so she had been careful to leave quietly and quickly. Taking a roundabout route to the city - she remembered which general direction it was in, but had been in no particular rush to get there, so the sun was high before she passed through the gates of Ne'haer, eyes wide as she was finally able to see the city truly. Even though it was nearing the end of the Cold Cycle, the city's weather was mild, enough so that the Neophyte had made no particular effort to dress warmly, donning a thinner cloak than the style she would have worn in Viden during the Hot Cycle. There was no snow in Ne'haer, not much white. It was nice, in a way, to actually see colour. Vide was still better, of course.

Wearing the clothes of the region (for her Videnese clothing was vastly inappropriate for her new home), Cerys did not stand out, and she slipped seamlessly into the crowd. Something else which was... nice. Cerys had woken up feeling rather content, and the leisurely walk into the city had only helped to relax her further. For the first time since leaving her home, Cerys found herself to be a nobody. No looks of hatred were cast her way, no whispered voices as she walked past. No one went out if his way to walk around her. Ordinarily, being normal was something that Cerys would have despised. But today's? After the endless treatment she had received among the Seekers - the few people who should understand, she was glad to be normal for a day.

Approaching a small tap house, Cerys smiled in thanks at the gentleman who held the door open for her as she entered. Approaching the bar, she asked a flagon of ale of the bartender, who busied himself with the order, making no comment on the early hour. The Neophyte’s family had never permitted the girl to consume mind-altering substances, and Tomás felt much the same way, given the nature of her gifts an temperament. Now, however, there was no one to stop her, and Cerys strongly doubted that Dromus would even mind if she returned to the Hideout with the slight smell of alcohol on her breath. In fact, Dromus would probably be happy that his friend was able to find a single day of enjoyment.

A pang of guilt did cause the girl a momentary hesitation, however, when she exchanged the single gold nel for the ale. It was not her nel, but Dromus’, and she had stolen it from her only friend the day before yesterday. Or… borrowed, for she would pay him back one day. Warlocks were deemed responsible for the funds of their Neophytes, and with Roslyn gone, Cerys had no means of accessing the money she had brought with her. But she suppressed the emotion; she would not run what she had planned to be a perfect day. “Thank you,” she said with a smile as she dragged her drink along the bar before picking it up and walking over to a table in the corner, by the fire, pocketing the change from the ale.

[Dromus]

Ever since Roslyn had left the Hideaway, Dromus had taken over the supervision of the Empath, Cerys. What this did to the sorcerer was, among other things, slow his progress. He had, for once, allowed Cerys to remain utterly unattended as he saw to arranging a ward for himself. After all, manipulating arcana required practice in order to advance. Attunement, while an intriguing craft in it of itself, was by no means the craft that Dromus excelled in. Gravitation was the sorcerer's true passion among the arcana that he had been exposed to, for it was the representation of what he truly craved most.

Power.

The boy's adolescence had been marred, indirectly, by war. His family had been destroyed by despair, their inability to adapt, to tear through the sullen bonds of their own mind had been their end. And while those two sordid souls continued to breathe, they did not truly live, lost in a cesspool that they likely would never emerge from. Dromus craved power, for it allowed him to forge his own existence, something that even now in the Hideaway, Dromus could not truly mark as his own. Now, he lived for the Hideaway, served as an extension of it and in it, individuality was all but lost. It was not a miserable existence, though for this sorcerer, who was a flame among embers... he found the Hideaway tiresome, to say the very least.

When at last Dromus was given a chance to utilize the resources of the Hideaway, he seized it at once, gripping it as a chance for him to get to the point where he could leave this place once and for all. The sorcerer stepped forward, passing a sorcerer who had hidden himself away in the ward that he would soon make use of. A breath pulled into his lungs as he approached a fenced-off area, a ward shielded by the use of powerful arcana that the young man could not even begin to understand. Parting through a gated opening, Dromus closed the entrance behind him and advanced forward. Before him were several puppets, which upon his entrance seemed to come to life. As they rose from the ground, Dromus arched his eyebrows in surprise, completely bewildered even as one began to approach him. The puppet-like objects were not humanoid, but rather resembled dogs, rapid in their movement as they advanced several meters before the sorcerer could react. Felled to the ground by the puppet's weight, Dromus found a gasp was forced out of his lungs, the sorcerer reaching out to grip its long muzzle of a mouth before it could attempt to bite at him. Kicking forward with both legs, Dromus sought to get the canine-like puppet off of his body, though it fell back merely a few feet.

What am I doing?! I came in expecting something like this... Why am I being helpless?

Eyebrows furrowed as rage flowed into the sorcerer's mind, Dromus quickly rising to his knees as a breath filled his lungs. As both of the puppets approached, the sorcerer attracted arcana to him, his ring-adorned hand facing towards them as he willed Arcana to form into force, driving it forward and slamming straight into the forward-most canine. It was pushed back immediately, thrown to the floor and rolling several feet as the other advanced. The sorcerer, emboldened by his first strike at the puppets, gathered arcana to him once more. Channeling it through the conduit once more, yet another breath filled the sorcerer's lungs. Surging forward, a grin materialized upon the sorcerer's lips, a puppet in mid-leap as Dromus pushed forward. The canine's neck snapped as Dromus pushed it, the construct colliding into the other, both rolling on the floor as one remained felled. The remaining puppet, larger by far than the first, faced towards the sorcerer, legs tensed as it seemingly figured out how it would advance. Dromus took the chance to pull at Arcana once more, the strain of doing so immediately noting itself as pain flickered through the young man's mind. He'd never felt the need to push so many times in sequence, his fingers trembling as he exerted himself. But, he needed to push himself. There was, after all, no progress without risk.

Is this what burning feels like?

The sorcerer rose to his feet as the other advanced, his head tilting just slightly as he raised his hand.

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

[Cerys]

Demoscoping had always been a favourite past time of Cerys’. It was essentially people-watching but Cerys, being who she was, preferred to describe the activity in a more refined manner; it sounded far less intrusive and nosy, even if it was just as scrutinising. At first, any distance would suffice when she was a child, and in hindsight Cerys thought that she made a much better Empath because of her inquisitive nature. She felt like she knew people. And that made her better at what she did, given that the arcana was such a personal magic. She had learnt long ago that the best results would come from when the target did not fight her influence, which ultimately meant that she should focus on emphasising existing emotions, or instilling emotions which were close to those the quarry already felt. It was simple psychology.

Which was why, now, Cerys was so much better placed to practice more advanced demoscoping. Now that she could actually sense what others were feeling, rather than guessing, she was much better able to discern the relationships between people, and possibly even get an insight into their motivations. She had not yet attempted to intervene, either verbally or through arcane means (at least not intentionally) but she thought that today… today might just be the day to try it. Taking another sip of her ale - which she had already decided was one of the worst drinks she had ever tried, but was determined to finish it - she watched as a middle-aged man wandered in, a young woman latched onto his arm. Both were clearly thrilled at the match they had made, as evident to anyone who looked at their haughty expressions, and a vague venturing out confirmed that. Both were attractive, though neither were anything out of the ordinary. She was more attractive than he, and dressed very well, to match his own attire. Cerys wondered which one was the one with the money, and if that dress had been a gift.

The young neophyte watched as they approached the bar front and attempted to order food. The relatively empty room meant that the bartender’s voice carried, apologising for the fact that they had just closed the kitchen in order to clean it ready for when they began to serve the evening meals. The man was not happy: threads of irritation radiated off of him and his voice was angry, despite the well-dressed woman’s attempt to calm him and the bartender’s insistence that the kitchen would reopen for dinner in about an hour, and if they’d just take a seat, he would bring over a bottle of complimentary wine. This piqued Cerys’ curiosity, and she turned her arcane attention to the bartender. It was hard to ignore the man’s anger in favour of focusing in on the much more subtle threads coming from the bartender, and a minute or so of trying was unsuccessful, for she had not yet the focus.

Eyes narrowing in annoyance, Cerys watched as the two customers accepted the offered bottle and two glassed - though the man did so grudgingly - and turned to sit at a nearby table. She took another sip of her drink as she finally lost interest in the couple, her gaze drifting around the room to the other punters, of which there were six. Try as she might, however, she could not focus on anyone but the man.For a moment, she wondered if the entire room felt the same anger, but she could sense the threads, they felt only of him. Weak as the anger new was, it was still powerful enough to dominate Cerys’ still developing ability.

[Dromus]

Dromus had always been told by Roslyn that there was a philosophical conundrum that some of the Sorcerers of the Hideaway so enjoyed toying with in their leisure. It revolved around the oh-so nebulous concept of mana and how it permeated within the very air of the world, harmless, until woven about by a sorcerer. Why was it harmless when un-tampered with, yet any attempt to manipulate it is met with toxicity and damage? To some, it was the belief that magic was an unnatural thing. But Dromus had always believed that to taste the power of a god one must come with an inherent risk. The idea burned powerfully in his mind as he looked upon the advancing puppet that he need still dispatch.

A smirk caught upon the sorcerer's lips as once more, he called mana to his person. He willed it with a breath, pulling it through the ring he wore upon his right hand. A surge of pleasure arose through his senses as, at last, he released his spell. The air about the young man stirred as the spell slung forward, a wall of raw force advancing towards the puppet. Unknowing, uncaring, the thing continued to advance, merely five feet from Dromus before colliding into the invisible blast. As with the other, its neck snapped back with a delightful crunch, its body rolling over itself before it collapsed into an untidy heap on the floor.

Once the exercise was completed, Dromus let a breath spill from his lungs, his lip quivering as a powerful chill rushed down his spine. Shivering as he stood still, assessing the situation before at last calming to the point of turning around, Dromus felt the impalpable satisfaction of seeing his opposition helpless before him. As the sorcerer exited the ward he'd been inside of, he felt the twinges of pain as the damage the puppets inflicted began to set in. His muscles began to ache as he traveled forth, though the grin upon his features never left until he saw the ever-so-familiar visage of the sorcerer's mentor and former mistress, Roslyn. The sight of Dromus' teacher was not enough to bring him down from the rush that he felt, but there was no denying the expression she was wearing. Disappointment? The sorcerer could not fathom why until the moment came where he remembered the task he had, his given assignment from the Warlock before him.

"Where is Cerys?" she asked, keeping the calm facade that won the sorceress the respect of so many Neophytes and Sorcerers alike. Dromus let his gaze flicker about for a moment before his grin began to fade. He'd given Cerys leave, but with the woman nowhere in sight, it was certainly a peculiar situation. Roslyn looked over the sorcerer, paying extra attention to his facial expression before shaking her head with a scoff,

"So caught up in your little game that you let her walk off on you? She's not even in the Hideaway, Dromus. She's in the city, she needs to be retrieved, and you are joining me."

Well, fuck me. Did the little 'lunatic' find her way into some trouble?

The idea that Dromus needed to be responsible to a young woman who, in all respects, deserved the status of an Acolyte was beyond him. It was simply due to Roslyn not trusting her, and the resentment that steeped within the sorcerer was not something he could hide. It seemed that Roslyn picked up the feeling, her expression nearly turning to amusement before she simply shrugged and led the way. Dromus fell into step beside the Warlock as he asked,

"Do you know where we begin to look?"

Roslyn merely shook her head as they advanced towards the city of Ne'haer.