Curses and Insomniacs (Ezre)

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Eirik Maste
Posts: 36
Joined: Thu Feb 28, 2019 4:06 pm
Topics: 8
Race: Galdor
Character Sheet: CS
Plot Notes: Grumpy Scribbles
Writer: Mythic
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Sun Mar 10, 2019 5:43 pm

11th of Intas, 2719
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Eirik Maste stared up at the ceiling of his lonely dormitory, his arms stretched out on either side of his body. The boy looked into the void of chipped paint, his teeth gnashed together as his dark-rimmed eyes refused to stay closed for more than a moment. His eyeballs stung at the back, his face twisted into a grimace as he felt the soreness of his almost non-existent musculature. The boy's body seemed adamant on destroying itself, and his soreness refused to provide to him the peace needed to rest.

How am I supposed to get better if I don't rest? he complained before he rose from his bed. He surrendered his night to the void, knowing well enough that the soreness would drive him insane if he allowed it to meld with unfocused nothingness. The young galdor moved to his wardrobe, a slight curve cast upon his lips as an idea sprung to mind. He'd never snuck out at night before! Perhaps there was something to explore. And if he got in trouble for being out... then maybe his body would learn its gods-damned lesson! Eirik shifted his weight, raising his shoulders and peeling off his nightshirt. He took a dark, long-sleeved shirt and threw it on instead. Then, he reached towards his collection of jackets. He took with him a dark pullover sweater, following it up with black sweatpants that he'd use in his younger attempts at physical activity. The garments were several inches too small, leaving his wrists and ankles exposed, but he shrugged in indifference before he moved on with his night. He took with him his grimoire and an unlit candle as he made his way out.

The Gioran peeked past his door, vigilant in his efforts to not be seen. He counted himself lucky to be among the Giorans, for in the distance his height might confuse people into believing him older than he really was. So long as they didn't see his face or ask him questions... he might be in the clear. Eirik kept his distance from the wall, allowing the darkness to absorb his visage as the lanterns adorning the walls cast long shadows over the stone floor. The boy's pupils grew wide, and his black-rimmed orbs strained to see in the darkness. Fortunately for the galdor, it looked that no one was in his way. He kept his pace slow, but his posture straight, deciding to remain stealthy, but not obviously so in the event he was spotted.

Non-chalance is key? he questioned as he moved through the hallways. His feet propelled him forward, and there was no general destination in mind until he realized he'd crossed through the campus and to the forefront of the school. In his travels, a loud crack of a snapping twig underfoot was heard, and his efforts at stealth were replaced with the consciously calm and measured step of 'someone who belonged'. Well... non-chalance is key now, isn't it? he decided as he stepped into the Church of the Moon. The galdor kept his face hidden, bowing his head in an effort to seem 'pious' or 'reverent', moving towards the pews for a long moment of prayer before an instinctive desire arose within him.

The Crypts are here, aren't they? I've never been... he thought as the smile, at last, curved his lips. Ashen features faced upwards as the Everine chorus sang out their solemn reverence. It didn't matter if he was spotted now, for surely the choir and their ilk wouldn't dare disturb someone in the midst of worship. As the song continued, the young galdor moved towards the winding staircase, moving with haste until he slipped on the sleek surface of the tile. He hissed, pushing his arms up to protect his head and neck as he tumbled to the floor. His grimoire flew out of his hands, but landed to the floor with a steep thud. In his hands he still held his candle, quite pleased that he maintained his grip on it. The choir stopped for a moment but continued once no one asked for assistance. The Gioran scaled the staircase after he picked up his grimoire, stowing it against the waistband of his pants. He uttered a soft sequence in Monite, igniting the wick of his candle to provide the Gioran with an ample view of the path ahead. Once he completed his spell, he retrieved his grimoire and held it against his ribcage as he continued his slow, poor attempt at stealth in his journey deeper and deeper into the belly of the Crypts.

The Gioran heard murmurs in the distance, and a 'tch' escaped his lips as he extinguished his candle, perturbed by the idea of finding others that might out him as a troublemaker, out of bed past curfew. However courage (or perhaps stupidity?) won out the day, and he refused to leave, eager to continue his sleepless exploration of the place.

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Ezre Vks
Posts: 285
Joined: Tue Mar 05, 2019 11:02 am
Topics: 22
Race: Galdor
Location: Brunnhold, Anaxas
: better with the dead
Character Sheet: Character Sheet
Writer: Muse
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Mon Mar 11, 2019 3:41 pm

The Crypts
after curfew on the 11th of Intas, 2719
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It was so much quieter in the Crypts, but that was somewhat of a given. The interred bodies of the Kingdom of Anaxas' most honored members of society: from scholars to explorers, from kings and queens to magisters and priests. Some were buried with their personal effects, whether they were beautiful and well-kept collections of their books or treasures that would have been considered priceless if plundered.

Some of their spirits lingered, too, though, for the most part, it seemed as though they were not as hungry as most. Perhaps they chose to remain for other reasons, perhaps their connection to their kingdom was just so strong that they couldn't imagine re-entering the Cycle and leaving their homeland. Perhaps they still felt responsible for those they'd once watched over, educated, or guided.

Ezre, for one rare moment, was not down in the sacred tombs below the Church of the Moon to chase after ghost stories.

Instead, the dark-haired boy was here for books. And to get away from the rowdy so-called study group going on in his section of the upperclassman halls this evening. The gods had chosen to challenge him with his Stacks-crawling, loud-mouthed neighbors who felt the need to make up for their stunted emotional growth with immature shows of what they claimed to be their academic progress. This whole kingdom seemed to struggle with its feelings, young galdori confused about how to properly navigate their gods-given place in the universe as if brute force were the only way to subjugate their lessors.

Background noise, really, for the Cycle carried on without such specificities. Death was as ambivalent as the mona was amoral, after all.

Still in his school uniform, the Hoxian meandered the neatly-organized, well-labeled catacombs, phosphor lanterns glowing steadily without the flickering of flames. Different colors of lanterns marked what passages were accessible, and some of the older, more important burial areas were blocked with ornate cast-iron gates and locks that required permission and a key from the Everine themselves. Curious secrets must have been hidden in there, secrets Ezre hoped to eventually earn permission to study and touch for himself.

For now, he made his way toward the burial halls of Clairvoyant Magisters, two old grimoires with rusty spines tucked under his arm, walking at a meandering pace. His field was spread wide, a flower that bloomed in the dark, senses alert and mind clear while he moved with purpose, humming to himself.

A shift of light caught the edge of his vision from part of a side hall full of small, intricately carved burial slots, each labeled individually in alphabetical order. It was either the motion of shadows or the snuffing out of a candle, for the way the glow danced before darkening was certainly not a phosphor thing to do. As much as Ezre considered himself prepared for encounters with the unliving, he felt the tingle of nervousness and a quickening of his breath, mona in his field shifting and tightening in anticipation of raising a quick defense should the spirits who lingered below the Church be as hungry as they were ancient.

Stepping into the passage, delicate arches overhead decorated with moisture and a few spider webs, dark eyes fell upon a familiar visage–the younger Gioran, Eirik, from winter break's escapades. It was well past underclassman curfew, but the Hoxian was not here to weigh the moral choices of those who were not vramovenhis family; personally possessive form of vramen,

"Hello again, Maste-vumashsir; a masculine respectful form of address. I trust you are not lost." Even if he was, Ezre wasn't going to mock him for it; it certainly wasn't the dark-haired boy's way of living. He didn't want to offer conjectures, aware that the albino boy could be down here of his own accord or he could have decided to hide down here from those who seemed so bent on harassing him. It wasn't as though Ezre wasn't also hiding in his own way, "Looking for company among the dead can be a thankless journey if your expectations are set too high."

It was meant as a bit of humor, the hint of a smile on Ezre's delicate lips all he gave to his intention.

"I'm on my way to the Clairvoyant Magister tombs. If you don't have anything better to do, you can come with me."

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Last edited by Ezre Vks on Tue Mar 12, 2019 12:54 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Eirik Maste
Posts: 36
Joined: Thu Feb 28, 2019 4:06 pm
Topics: 8
Race: Galdor
Character Sheet: CS
Plot Notes: Grumpy Scribbles
Writer: Mythic
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Tue Mar 12, 2019 5:08 am

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Blessed quiet...

Moreso than the actual volume within the Crypts, Eirik Maste craved the quiet of the mind. Restless and more than a little stressed, the night didn't surrender the sweet secrets of rest to him. His journey to the Crypts, though born from a whim, was no less significant to him for that reason. Rumours spilled even to the friendless, and the idea of finding ancient knowledge and secrets beyond the realm of his expectation excited him more than anything else. Of course, there were also rumours of darkness in the Crypts, spirits both benevolent and malevolent clinging to their existence on Vita rather than surrendering to the great unknown of the afterlife. Though Eirik was very young, the scars on the back of his hands and along his shoulders and back reminded him of his mortality.

No one escapes death, he assured himself as he found himself caught up on a dusty tomb. The name had long since faded from view, and the young Eirik strained his eyes in an effort to see, only to look above the unmarked. A stone slab sealed a sarcophagus, and the young man attempted in vain to gather his lacking physical strength in an effort to move it aside. Failing in his great effort, he blew up, a tuft of woolen white hair lifting from the breath before he stepped back from the sarcophagus when the sound of footsteps grew closer still. Then, the visage materialized into view, the faint flames of lantern light providing the Gioran with ample resources to look upon the Hoxian he'd met over the Winter break.

Is he going to tell me to leave? he wondered, and certainly Eirik wasn't the first to speak. Instead, he listened, the unfamiliar title following his surname arching his eyebrows in confusion, though he allowed context to define the word in his favor. A small smile caught upon the Gioran's features as he probed outward, extending his field to meet the Hoxian's. Steeped within his presence, the Hoxian might sense his restlessness, his field extended in a manner similar to a handshake before he drew back and rose to his full height. his vertebrae extended, and he allowed a low groan to escape his lips as he shook his head.

"Not lost, no. At least, not right now," he mused, taking the Hoxian's words under advisement though all he could muster from them is the briefest inkling of laughter. How refreshing it was, to not be under scrutiny or verbal assault. Conversation for the Gioran was often rife with tension, and though he enjoyed the presence of others, the pleasures of association were often marred by the constant harassment at the hands of his 'peers'. The laughter was fresh and easy as it spilled from his lips, and he nodded in agreement before looking over the nearby sarcophagus with intrigue in those pink irises.

"Oh, please. Anything could be better than the raybhard work, labor that is social convention," he added. The Gioran's words were rough around the edges and the intermittent sigh that accompanied his tone wore against his soft tones. Then, the Hoxian referred to the Clairvoyant Magister tombs, seemingly quite sure of his direction. The invitation extended to him brought the smile wider upon his features. How nice it was, to be included. Eirik Maste certainly did have better things to do, but already so far from his room and with no intention to sleep any time soon, the Gioran nodded in agreement. He'd follow the Hoxian, but first, he had a question for him.

"You seem like you know where you're going. Do you come down here a lot? I've always wondered..." he trailed off, looking to the narrow walkways of the Crypts and recalling again the copious rumours and dark whispers in the night. Ghost stories and whirlwind musings of treasure were all the rage with the teenagers of his year. Eirik, of course, had only heard the tellings from a distance. So excluded he was by the design of the young souls who hated him without so much as getting to know him. The fifth form student gestured to the grimoires that the Hoxian held in his hands, switching his gaze between those books and the hallways that merited his split focus.

"Is it forbidden to take from this place? Are the tools of the dead ours to utilize? I... I always wondered what the ancient galdori knew that we might not. The...the librarians don't let me peer into the more esoteric tomes within. They say I'm a bit too young to pry," he completed. The young galdor had no idea why he divulged so much uninvited, but he felt at ease, and the words poured out of him at an alarming rate, if he was honest with himself. Ezre held a soothing presence, being far calmer and level-headed than the Gioran he invited along with him. Both Eirik's heart and his field ticked with anxiety, emboldened by eagerness at the idea of having a 'friend' to explore this unknown place with.
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Ezre Vks
Posts: 285
Joined: Tue Mar 05, 2019 11:02 am
Topics: 22
Race: Galdor
Location: Brunnhold, Anaxas
: better with the dead
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Writer: Muse
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Tue Mar 12, 2019 3:06 pm

The Crypts
after curfew on the 11th of Intas, 2719
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Ezre was not particularly outgoing enough to make too many friends or he was at least considered so outside of most normal Anaxi comfort zones that he hadn't made more than a few new friends since leaving Hox. That said, because one never knew who you'd shared a previous life with, the Hoxian wasn't particularly keen to make enemies, either. The albino younger student was taller, and yet he could tell the boy far more restless than himself. His field was full of the electric tingle of Static mona, vibrating with a life of its own—unsettled. The dark-haired boy, by contrast, was nearly the epitome of well-grounded calm, his delicate frame and austere Clairvoyant aura one that revealed just how comfortable he was both here in the chilled, stale air of the Crypts as he was simply in the life he'd been given.

"It's hard to know who you are if you do not have anyone to help define you. We are all responsible for those around us—at least where I am from." Ezre offered quietly at the Gioran's distaste for social convention, aware that he'd grown up an isolated life in a city full of books, temples, and spirits, supported by his family and religious community, close to the children he'd called his friends.

He had yet to be given any reason to judge the younger boy's worthiness of his own companionship, so instead the older student chose to wait until he proved himself otherwise.

"I transferred to Brunnhold from Freckstat specifically for the Crypts. There are few historical rivals to what is recorded down here, save for perhaps the libraries of my home in Kzecka. I have been down here many times to familiarize myself with the tombs and catacomb tunnels, though I will admit I have yet to gain access to some of the more interesting areas. I am told it is for my safety, but I'm not afraid of the dead." Ezre smiled briefly, turning to lead them both out of the narrow hall of cramped, tiny mausoleums carved into the bedrock holding mostly early political figures and a few important military officials, judging by the decorations of their individual grave doors. Many had been here for so many centuries that the writing had eroded, the bodies inside probably little more than dust.

Dark eyes glanced down at his books and he chuckled softly, almost inaudibly, "I borrow from those who came before me at my own risk. There are some restless spirits still attached to their lives down here, many who couldn't let go of their sense of purpose. Touching their objects can earn you their attention, yes, but I have yet to find myself disturbed by their wrath. I have heard stories, however. You are still an underclassman, and while it isn't forbidden to partake of the knowledge left behind down here, it is expected that you will return it where you found it. These legacies are for the edification of all galdori. Should someone selfishly squander this wealth of knowledge, surely they will find themselves haunted ruthlessly by those who disapprove, living or dead."

Normally reserved, the otherwise unemotional Hoxian was quite capable of carrying on a conversation in more intimate company. He led them toward another archway from one of the main halls in the Crypts, pausing gather his field and to speak the Monite for illumination in order to call forth a palm-sized orb of ruddy, faint light in order to better read the names on various headstones mounted on the wall with,

"Are you too young?" He asked, almost sounding disinterested in the answer. His history was one of agelessness—growing up in the timeless atmosphere of a holy city, born of a body occupied by a soul that claimed to be at least a hundred years old. Not that he was about to reveal that secret to anyone. Not yet. Who would believe him? No, he was sworn to guard the truth carefully,

"There are some things galdorkind knows better now, and there are some things we have definitely forgotten as a people. I admit that sometimes, however, I really just come down here for the quiet."

Ezre's dark eyes turned to names, pausing at a side hall and reading the inscriptions as if attempting to remember where he had found the books in his hands, "Ah. Here. There is a Clairvoyant Magister who was buried with her entire library. Madame Verthyana." He led the way into the hall that was only lit by the faint glow from his magic, reaching a very elaborate ironwork gate, the doors of which had been shaped to curl and entwine like vines and leaves. Unlocked, the Hoxian gently entered the threshold. Sunk into the floor were several white marble squares, the sepulchers of the Madame, her husband, and other notable members from later generations of their family with her own burial three hundred years prior. One wall of the high-ceilinged rectangular room was an entire library, overflowing with crumbling books, scrolls, and personal effects. Strangely enough, against the other wall rest a desk and a chair along with a table covered in the dusty remnants of favorite Clairvoyant tools, some of which had been left as offerings over the decades.

There were unlit lanterns and a smattering of candles, but the dark-haired galdor simply chose to increase the light of his spell with a few modified phrases, the glow brightening to a homey yellow and filling the cramped space with plenty of light.

Returning his books to their places on the shelf, tattooed fingers traced over dry leather spines, looking for something the Magister had referenced in one of the volumes he'd already read through twice,

"You are out past your curfew. Did you come down here chasing sleep, searching for knowledge, or looking for ghosts?"

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Eirik Maste
Posts: 36
Joined: Thu Feb 28, 2019 4:06 pm
Topics: 8
Race: Galdor
Character Sheet: CS
Plot Notes: Grumpy Scribbles
Writer: Mythic
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Wed Mar 13, 2019 3:23 am

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Eirik Maste found it difficult to mask the maelstrom of sensation that seeped into the field around him. Certainly, the boy knew that the older Ezre must see him for what he was - vulnerable and raw with fresh scars that bubbled like blood to the surface of a wound. The boy didn't try to hide even when found out, finding the calming presence of Ezre's own field bringing to him a sense of tranquility that encouraged his own reign on his emotions. But no, Eirik Maste was not uncomfortable for being in the Crypts. Fear for the dead was not his to have. No, fear was reserved for the living, and the false death directly brought on by the lash of their callousness.

Then, Ezre spoke, his words denoting a flicker of wisdom that the boy could certainly agree with, though he'd never been the recipient of such personal responsibility. No, whether it was in Gior or in Anaxas, Eirik Maste found himself earning ire from those whose affections he might benefit most from. He found undeserved dislike welled in the fields of those galdori children that often shared seats within him in class. Pulled away from some of the classes that housed such malevolent beings, perhaps Eirik could find solace and reprieve at last. But, it had not yet come. And so, he remained awake.

"I know who I am," he began, his fingers twitching with the urge to clench into fists, but he relented. His arms hung limply at his sides as he looked to the Hoxian, ceasing his movement as he raised the hand with the candle. He placed his grimoire in between his elbow and his ribcage. He uttered the familiar sequence in Monite, quickly and beseechingly igniting the candle to better light their way. He put the grimoire back into his right hand as he looked back to the Hoxian. He was intent on continuing, but he reserved his statement instead, listening to the short tale that the Hoxian told, intrigued that the older boy transferred to Brunnhold specifically for this place. Looking around as the orange glow of fire threw long shadows and bright light about the sarcophagi and bedrock walls of the Crypts, he nodded in understanding. It was certainly quite the place, though perhaps it didn't dawn on the Gioran just how extraordinary it was just yet.

"What sense of purpose can they have here? Surely it isn't to guard secrets? There have to be more secure means to do that," he wondered aloud. The Hoxian talked more now than he'd ever heard him speak and yet his words told him very little. Advisement against a threat he didn't understand, a preamble to disturbances that the elder galdor himself was making. And yet... he wasn't the victim of the aforementioned consequences? The Gioran showed the confusion upon his features, and in the ripples of his field as he extended it outward as he witnessed the display of faint light that the Hoxian made. At the very least, both of them had their own means of illumination, for the need to share, while fine, wouldn't do either of them justice in their efforts to learn or explore.

"It only makes sense... As civilization advances and the masses gain a similar awareness, the esoteric becomes more difficult to identify. Things that were once fact become muddled and unsure, eventually fading into obscurity and forgotten," he ruminated. The thought of death turned from nerves and anxiety to a calm inevitability. He, of course, hadn't come down here to think about death, but to hide from the void. Sleep never came for the young galdor when he wanted it to, and his imminent meeting with Professor Sonfield only had his thoughts more jumbled up than they normally were. Eirik followed Ezre into the side hall, moving to the tomb of 'Madame Verthyana'. The elder galdor pushed open the elaborately decorated gates, and Eirik Maste followed him, curious to see what they might uncover. The Gioran was quite pragmatic, and the idea of Clairvoyance didn't necessarily appeal to him personally, but the mona was indiscriminate. The many types of mona were as varied as the breeds of galdor that practiced them or more, and it was folly for the young sorcerer to ignore one type completely when the opportunity to understand was handed to him on a platter.

It's not like you have anything else going on, either, he encouraged himself as he stepped past the iron gate. Eirik Maste was astonished by the sheer magnitude of tomes that languished within the tomb, and a tinge of excitement colored his field and flared throughout his physical body. Lips curved into a smile as he looked over the tools of Clairvoyant practice. He wasn't sure what any of it did, for even the accelerated path he was put on, the galdor hadn't yet the opportunity to study any defined discipline of sorcery that wasn't Static. Ezre snapped Eirik out of his thoughts with his question, and the young galdor raised a hand to his lips as he thought on his answer. Then, he spoke out, his tone soft, but exhibiting more and more confidence with each utterance. Clearly, speaking civilly with someone was showing the boy to be neither shy nor truly timid.

"I came down here on a whim, truly. Sleeplessness is normal for those under pressure, isn't it? I'm sure you have your own things that you wish to hide from in the dead of night, as well." Eirik pulled his field back in earnest, at last winding it tightly around him. He did not suppress it, but neither would he openly provide the maelstrom of emotion for the Hoxian to scrutinize as he pleased. The two galdor stood, allowing his fingertips to traverse the bindings of the books and his pink irises to comb the binding in search of titles.
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Ezre Vks
Posts: 285
Joined: Tue Mar 05, 2019 11:02 am
Topics: 22
Race: Galdor
Location: Brunnhold, Anaxas
: better with the dead
Character Sheet: Character Sheet
Writer: Muse
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Fri Mar 22, 2019 1:15 pm

The Crypts
after curfew on the 11th of Intas, 2719
It was not the Hoxian's place to judge another foreigner whose culture he admittedly knew little about—Gior was distant and mysterious to the sheltered temple-born boy who was only in Brunnhold for the education. His secondary focus on Perceptive conversation allowed him a rather subtle form of insight, but the albino galdor's body language and general demeanor were just as telling to Ezre as his extra sensory information was, in all honesty. The younger boy was troubled, but it wasn't his place to ask by what or why. At least not at this juncture in their acquaintance—it wasn't as though he was a friend. Yet.

"The spirits of the dead often linger because of something they can't let go of. Here in the Crypts, there are probably ghosts who cannot let go of their studies, their politics, or the sudden manner of their deaths." The dark-haired boy shrugged, allowing the hint of a smile crease into his delicate features when Eirik agreed with his views on the collective memory of advancing civilizations, burying their old beneath the new as time moved forward. New discoveries made old ones feel out-dated, less true, and in eras of conflict or tumultuous change, important things were often hidden and forgotten.

While he traced fingertips over old book spines, the Hoxian prayed quietly, back turned to the Gioran while his lips moved, asking permission and hoping the spirit of Madame Verthyana was not only at peace but perhaps already enjoying new life in a new body through the turning of the Cycle. His question to the other boy was perhaps merely asked to fill the space between them—Ezre wasn't really that skilled in idle chatter, but he tried.

"I do not feel this pressure you speak of, but I came here voluntarily to Anaxas from my home. Some might say I should have gone to Mugroba for Thul'Amat's specialty in Clairvoyance, however, perhaps I will do my post-graduate studies in the desert kingdom. I am not hiding here—I am not afraid of being haunted, nor do I let the pettiness of my peers bother me. My path is one I look forward to, even in the rockiest of moments." Dark eyes glanced sideways at Eirik next to him, taking in the other boy's mix of uninhibited emotions without a comment. Gods, were his own people the only galdori who had learned to find some semblance of internal balance? There was no reason to let so much of your inner self bleed into the monic cloud of your field, giving yourself away to strangers as if you had no self-control.

But, the albino was younger and perhaps far less disciplined, no matter how natural of a sorcerer he'd proven himself to be that day on the Lawn in Ophus,

"I have just always been a light sleeper." Personal anecdotes always felt so awkward to share, but in the spirit of attempting friendliness, Ezre gave such idle talk an enthusiastic try. The lilt of his Deftung-thickened accent was lighter, less deadpan, "Did you come to Brunnhold to study Static magic because Gior is more Physical-focused?"

Tattooed fingers curled over the edge of a particular book, dark eyes narrowing on the title, which read in scratched gold letters: A Record of Unusual Scrying Phenomenon and an Attempt at their Explanations.

Perhaps his question was too bold, too invasive in a subtle sort of way considering he was more or less asking why the Gioran would even be here in tumultuous Anaxas, but the Hoxian was unsure of what proper kinds of topics to bring up with a younger, male, equally foreign student in the ruddy glow of his light spell and candle light in the tombs beneath the Church of the Moon. As he glanced up from the dusty old hand-bound book he'd pulled gingerly from the shelf, the candle flickered and his magical light wavered. It was strange but noticeable, even if Ezre chose not to bring up the matter, too interested in the title as he used his palm to rub dust off the worn leather cover.

Thankfully, there was a table of contents as Ezre carefully opened the old thing and ran a tattooed finger over the words as if looking for something specific, ignoring the sudden nervousness that fluttered through his insides, a cold thrill of excitement that perhaps this section of the Crypts was not, in fact, as quietly uninhabited as it seemed,

"I can take us to other sections of these tombs if you are curious or after a specific field of study to see if anyone has left behind a library or other intellectual treasures. I have a map."

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Eirik Maste
Posts: 36
Joined: Thu Feb 28, 2019 4:06 pm
Topics: 8
Race: Galdor
Character Sheet: CS
Plot Notes: Grumpy Scribbles
Writer: Mythic
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Tue Jun 11, 2019 3:54 pm

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After a decade spent within Brunnhold, Eirik Maste hardly felt like a foreigner. The culture of Gior was lost to him, left by the wayside just like he was.

Maste's gaze diverted, looking to Ezre from the corner of his eye. The Hoxian was a quiet soul, an intriguing person that unlike the rest saw it appropriate to treat his fellows as equals. It was a relief and Eirik found that he enjoyed the company offered to him as they lingered within the Crypts. Listening without speaking, it didn't escape the Gioran's notice that the sarcasm he used as a shield was abandoned. No, instead, Eirik's features formed a small smile as Ezre answered his questions.

When Ezre contradicted his comment about pressure, the Maste couldn't help but chuckle. Of course you don't, he reasoned. Ezre Vks was calm and collected, the antithesis of Eirik's own tumultuous nature. Eirik nodded in understanding and found an unbidden curiosity satisfied as the boy explained to him his intentions within Brunnhold and the possibilities in his future. Perhaps Eirik was too young to delve into his future, or perhaps he simply hadn't considered it fully. The pursuit of magic was the only goal on his mind, but perhaps given the time he'd find other passions while in school. Lost in the flow of time, Eirik Maste was unsure how to proceed, and followed Ezre until he posed his question about Eirik's arrival in Brunnhold.

"I... I never had the choice to 'come' to Brunnhold. My parents left me here and never looked back," he informed him, his lips pursed in obvious conflict at the admission before bitter laughter followed. Eirik knew that the faculty was informed of his circumstances and for obvious reasons, but the students he'd come across weren't so well-informed. Eirik was isolated and in turn isolated himself, but in Ezre's presence he allowed himself to relax, if only slightly. A cough parted Eirik's lips, the Gioran raising his hand to his lips to mute the sound. His body shook with the force of it, and then Ezre's offer widened his eyes.

There was so much that Eirik was curious to find out about. There were other magical conversations that he only knew in theory. He gave thought to Ezre's question and hoped to step their conversation as far away from family and choices as he could.

"You're very well prepared," he commented, a chuckle forming in his maw. Fingers brushed along the spine of a book, debating whether to take it from the shelf. The binding gave him no clue as to what he'd be reading, and given the conversation at hand he decided to focus more on what he wanted to delve into.

"I'd be curious to delve further into Quantitative conversation if I'm being honest. Based on what I've learned about, it'd be very useful to become more familiar with given my current specialization in Static," he mused aloud.

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Ezre Vks
Posts: 285
Joined: Tue Mar 05, 2019 11:02 am
Topics: 22
Race: Galdor
Location: Brunnhold, Anaxas
: better with the dead
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Sat Jun 22, 2019 10:39 pm

The Crypts
after curfew on the 11th of Intas, 2719
"Your family left you here? As in, abandoned you? You are not a passive." Ezre's question was asked with a raised eyebrow, his delicate features drawing together into the faintest hint of a frown. For the young Hexxos acolyte, for the boy who'd grown up in a quiet, isolated religious city full of books and spirits, family was everything. He blinked slowly, sincere statement delivered with the dark-haired boy's typical even, near-deadpan tone, "That is most unfortunate, considering your exceptional talents. Those that do not value their own relations do not deserve the treasure they have lost."

He certainly couldn't imagine not knowing his parents, and he loathed to think about living his entire life here in the Kingdom of Anaxas.

The albino galdor coughed but Ezre didn't step back out of the way, dark eyes taking in the taller but younger boy with what could only be concern forming in his expression, "Are you well enough for a bit of exploration, Maste-vumash? The air deeper in the Crypts is colder and more stale—" Tattooed fingers reached for the buttons of his uniform coat and he began to undo them, clearly intending to offer his jacket to Eirik because it wasn't as though it was as cold as the distant mountains of Hox far to the north, "—do you want this?"

Even if the other boy refused, he kept the outermost layer of his uniform unbuttoned just in case, adjusting his satchel over his shoulder and turning to lead the way, "I did make attempts, but down here, I am quite certain there are things no amount of preparation can ready us for—oh—Quantitative? Professor Higgins would like us all to believe that Conversation has endless uses, I suppose. There is a section of interred Quantitative Magisters nearby."

Ezre paused, glancing at the albino's candle, gathering his Clairvoyant mona-laden field as he spoke matter of factly, "We should perhaps give ourselves more to see by than that." The Hoxian intoned familiar Monite for creating light with a whispered reverence, creating above their heads a warm amber-glowing sphere. It was a little brighter than an oil lantern, and simple enough to upkeep without requiring too much concentration.

He led them up the hallway of graves and mausoleums dedicated to those who had contributed their finances to the very foundation of Brunnhold hundreds of years ago and even recently, and the Hoxian student couldn't help but linger curiously as if he could somehow compare the Anaxi interment methods over time simply by studying the placards. How he longed to see the bodies hidden behind sealed layers of stone! In Hesse, much like his homeland of Hox, bodies were cremated, but here in this Kingdom, there was an attachment to a body that the Hexxos acolyte couldn't entirely understand.

"Were you born in Gior? Do you remember what it was like there?" Ezre had been quiet for quite some time before he spoke up, his steps silent and his breathing steady. What he was thinking was left up to Eirik's imagination, but when he finally did say something again he couldn't help his curiosity, asking questions to distract himself from his more morbid fascinations just as their steps took them into a large crossroads with decorative archways and a carved ceiling.

"I will check our map." The dark-haired boy announced, looking up to study the figures of galdori dueling carefully hand-crafted into the stonework and plaster above. They were painted, bright colors and gold details completely wasted in the darkness except for undaunted souls like Ezre and his younger companion, apparently.

The air here was dry and yet there was a breeze from somewhere, and while the Hoxian rifled through his satchel, his eyes fluttered for a moment as if trying to get a sense of its direction, gathering his field again while considering the very Quantitative conversation they were seeking remnants of in the Crypts.

"Do you feel that, Maste-vumash?"
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Eirik Maste
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Sun Jun 23, 2019 6:50 am

Time Stamp
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"Your family left you here?"

"You're not a passive,"

Eirik knew from what little upbringing he had that the showing of emotion was a fragile thing. Galdori were beings of pride, driven upward, higher and higher still by the sheer luminance of their existence. However, though his logical mind knew the convention of stoicism, his heart ached at any attempt to replicate it. Pain welled within his field at the flippant utterance, how the tiniest frown manifested upon Ezre's features. The Gioran hadn't meant for the elder student to learn about such a thing, but as he listened to Ezre's "analysis" of the Gioran's abandonment, color flooded his features.

Treasure?

The sensation of pride whirled through Eirik's visage. His pale pink irises widened, his sullen expression lifting somewhat as he felt the calm within the storm. Even the cool, deadpan tone that carried the words was lost to the boy Maste, his eyebrows quirked in a moment of curiosity. It was very rare... so very rare for a student to acknowledge Eirik's talents. Professors and faculty abound told Eirik of his potential. They admonished his physical frailty in one breath while complimenting his talents in sorcery. The whiplash of assessment was something he'd never known in the younger galdori, whose fields were always dulled by apathy or outright dislike.

Confusion was a flurry of hot and cold, obvious conflict present in Eirik's field up until the point that Ezre unbuttoned his coat with the intent of offering it to the Gioran. The flush burned brighter still, and he adamantly shook his head before he even realized he'd moved at all. Eirik didn't notice the smile that lifted his lips, either.

"I-... I'm well enough for whatever comes ahead, Ezre. I'll be fine with what I have," he answered. Instead, he pulled the candle just slightly closer to his body. A short string of Monite had the wax receding from the wick, the flame burning hotter, yet remaining contained in size. The Maste beseeched the mona with gentle coaxing, and the result was a subtle, but hot flame, burning a strong blue near its base before giving way to the release of heat and taking the characteristic orange glow of wafting fire. Eirik was careful to keep the flame far enough that he himself did not catch. When Ezre acknowledged Maste's answer, he nodded in affirmation. Certainly, in a place like this, with potential ghosts and possible strange curses laid by ancient magisters... there was a plethora of ways that much of anything could go wrong. However, when doubt arose within him, a moment's weakness, he recalled those words that Eirik suspected that Ezre hardly realized the significance of at all.

Don't deserve the treasure they've lost.

Warmth bloomed against Eirik's chest, both within it and against it as Ezre then motioned to the need for greater light. Figuring that amplifying his current use of Static mona would be unwise, he maintained the healthy flame he carried, using it more as warmth than a source of light. His own spell held very little need for focused upkeep, the practiced hand of Eirik's Static willing the flame to burn brighter. The wick was wearing down, but the boy suspected he'd have ample time to warm himself before he need make further arrangements.

As Eirik and Ezre traversed the hallway, the Gioran also couldn't help but find his gaze wandering. The candle wavered with his wandering attention, but never went out as the sixth-form student's gaze shifted. The Estuan on the walls marked graves, and while a great many of them were too worn by the passage of time to read, others still were fresh and legible even in the dim light they held in their hands. Then, Ezre asked his question and the Maste felt his mood begin to slip away. The thought of Gior, his homeland, was one that seldom crossed the machinery of his mind. He kept quiet for a moment before he answered. Eirik's voice was hollow and quiet, his field drawn closer and closer to his body as ice crystallized within his chest.

"I've spent more time in Anaxas than I ever did in Gior. But, what I remember of my homeland... Everything seemed simpler without humans and their drama to worry about. The hearts of the people were never drawn on their faces. I can only assume that their fields intertwined readily, a wealth of feeling to be discerned by those that can?" he added, his thoughts deepening further, voice growing quieter until the subject changed yet again and Eirik's eyes drifted to meticulously crafted stone. Galdori with lips parted and distance between them - a sign of dueling sorcerers - caught Eirik's attention. He found the smile manifesting yet again as he relished in the craftsmanship of it all.

"I wonder if the artists carved this by hand... or if they asked the mona for help," he murmured aloud, his attention wrapped in the thought up until he felt something very peculiar. If the two galdori were at surface level, Eirik wouldn't have given the slightest pause. However, a breeze carried throughout the Crypts, and immediately the Gioran was alert. When Ezre mentioned it aloud, Eirik nodded curtly, saying nothing in an effort to keep his attention fully fixated on the anomaly.

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Ezre Vks
Posts: 285
Joined: Tue Mar 05, 2019 11:02 am
Topics: 22
Race: Galdor
Location: Brunnhold, Anaxas
: better with the dead
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Writer: Muse
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Fri Jun 28, 2019 2:00 pm

The Crypts
after curfew on the 11th of Intas, 2719
"If you change your mind, then." Ezre left the offer for an extra layer open, allowing Eirik the freedom of his own decisions and accepting his personal assessment that the Gioran was well enough. The open areas of the Crypts—the areas that were allowed to be accessed by students, at least—were for the most part considered safe. Yes, there had been reports of paranormal activity, but, as expected, the Everine were largely silent on the matter and the faculty of Brunnhold were quick to dismiss such reports. Reports that had become more common instead of less over the years.

The Hexxos acolyte had carefully listened to these things since his transfer from Frecksat, though he spoke of them very little. Whatever was happening, the dark-haired boy wanted to see for himself instead of simply be told by those who did not share his Kzecka-honed insight.

"Hox and Gior are similar in some ways. We do not require the sweat of humanity to live our lives as galdori, and we have simply let the half-bred wicks and their descendants be feral far from civilized society. We also value self-control, which is something Anaxi seem to lack in so many respects." Speaking of self-control, Ezre was quick to fall quiet and not give more of his opinions on what he saw as the weaknesses of a Kingdom he'd only lived in for barely two years. Aware that his own northern homeland had just recently ended decades of isolation, he considered that his personal opinions might have been very biased, if not entirely inappropriate to put on display here in the musty darkness beneath the Church of the Moon to a boy who'd been abandoned by his own people and taken in by Brunnhold with relative kindness.

Regardless of Eirik's heritage, he called this kingdom home and the Hoxian was really in no position to criticize further.

They made their way in otherwise relative quiet, occasionally pausing to examine interesting sepulchers or peer into cobweb-filled mausoleums. When they finally found themselves in the large room with the sculptured murals, it would have been a welcome break had it not also been a strange one,

"Perhaps a mix of both. Most artisans have found ways to glorify the gods with their magic while exercising their talents, after all." He offered distractedly as if changing the subject away from the strange sensation of moving air this far underground would at all keep him from focusing on it, digging for his map again, inked fingers poised to open his notebook. Glancing around again, he concentrated on moving the glow of his orb of light to illuminate the walls and the passageways that went off from this small crossroads, attempting to see where the breeze might have come from.

Ezre's eyes fluttered shut while he spoke again, concentrating while mulling over spellwork choices in his mind. This time he whispered as if somehow the volume of his voice made a difference, "A change in temperature? There could be a stairwell not marked on my map that would produce a shift in warm air and cool air. First, to determine the direction."

The dark-haired boy quietly intoned the Monite for a small collection of Quantitative spells. While Static was not at all his focus, Eirik would be able to pick out the phrases used for analyzing temperature and wind speed and air pressure and direction. The Hoxian glanced up to the tall albino as if inviting him to join in the casting, if not the analyzing of the results.

ABBC3_OFFTOPIC
Rolled a 5 for the Quantitative analysis and a 5 for the Static support spells.


Information flooded his magical senses and filtered into his thoughts even as the breeze set stray strands of hair tickling his delicate cheeks. Ezre's face contorted slightly in curiosity or concern—it was hard to tell because the shift between those two extremes was so very subtle with his general lack of emotional expression and otherwise calm demeanor—and he glanced down at his map, spreading it open between the two of them and carefully balancing it with one tattooed hand. His other finger traced along his hand-drawn passage way and to where they stood, index finger drifting upward along one of the passages,

"The wind is blowing from this way and into the antechamber here. It's decidedly warmer than the air temperature this far beneath Brunnhold, which according to my quantification implies it's coming from higher ground instead of lower. Perhaps someone has a fancier mausoleum than everyone else? Or the Everine have their own stairwell? I did not superimpose the layout of the Church grounds above my sketch, so I admit ignorance about additional entrances. I know they exist and most of them are ... off limits to students on account of safety. The risks of running into lost spirits do not outweigh the benefits of knowledge buried down here—in my opinion, of course. You are in no way obligated to believe in ghosts, but I assure you they're not concerned with your thoughts on the matter."

His inked finger drifted more to the left, leaving the hall where it seemed the weak wind was from and toward where he'd previously indicated the direction of Quantitative burial sites were gathered into a collection, "Our route is this way, fortunately or not, so we can certainly continue on our way. Or check to see if I can mark another potential exit on my map before moving on. I leave the choice to you, Eirik."

It was a most generous offer from the older student to defer the decision-making to the younger boy, and Ezre did so without a hint of indication his actual preferences, which, no doubt, would be somewhat frustrating to the Gioran-born youth who was perhaps far more used to the Anaxi style of expressing oneself much more to the fullest. The Hoxian did arch an eyebrow as if in anticipation, unable to entirely help letting his gaze shift toward the hall that produced the faint breeze, squinting into the dark before returning to the notebook in his hand.
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