Atharen, A Fantasy Roleplay Forum

Posted: **Wed Oct 21, 2020 11:59 pm**

47th of Ash, Year 120

After the other man had accepted his proposal: that any such magic would innately be tied to a sworn vow, the Argent Knight brought him to a place of sheer isolation. It was a small Covenant outpost -- a barracks adorned with a few beds and a charming hearth -- in the middle of the snowy wastelands, tens of miles away from any significant portion of civilization. He often came here to practice magic, to relax, to focus and read -- and he would need all of the focus he could acquire in order to complete this task. It was monumental, and in effect he was doing all of this to benefit a stranger. Still: he wanted to expand the Remedy's foreign ranks, and finally he could. Risk was required.

The young mage had removed his coat and shoes, only wearing a pair of linen trousers and an open vest. He was barefoot and his weapons were mounted upon a wooden table by one of the beds, though a few of his accessories like his necklaces and his tooth-shaped earring still dangled from his neck and lobe. The mage was dressed oddly casual for what they were about to partake in, largely because it was not a feat that could be battled with by swords or other tools. He needed to explain well, to do it right, and to hope that Aldrin did not cull the aspiring mage the moment he looked into the depths of his soul.

"The chances of you surviving this night are next-to-nothing," he said. "You must be strong of will, capable of enduring great pain and duress, lucky, and morally virtuous. You must swear fealty to me and the Remedy -- as you already effectively did -- the moment after I initiate you, so that Aldrin witnesses your oath. If he believes you will abuse this power or be a liability, he will destroy you where you stand. In all likelihood, he will approach me and ask why I am initiating you, and -- to be honest -- I don't have an incredibly compelling reason. I figured it's time to add to our numbers, and you seem as good an option as any. I can't afford to get to know each prospect for ten years before hedging my bets; we'll be wiped out before then. That's all I can really say to him," he explained.

"Now -- for the process itself. I need to enter the Dead Realm with... my soul. My soul itself will search for a new Beacon, which I will bind to your soul after discovering. The Beacon is the conduit of Malek's purifying powers -- it is an augment of the soul, and a channel from which we summon Shrivenflame. It is the component within the Black Sigil - the Rune - that makes it all work. It is also from where all of the... risk comes," he began to explain. "If the Beacon does not bind properly to your soul, it will burn you from within, or sit on the edges of your soul and graze it with Shrivenflame. Aldrin, my Lord, can choose to make it unable to bind, condemning you to death like I said before. I need you -- while I commune with him -- to reach out to the Beacon with your soul and become one with it, to focus as much as you can on aligning the two spheres. Or you will quickly die."

Stephan sighed, beginning to focus his aether. He felt the ruminations of his own Beacon; the sort of... pulse it had, like a second heart. For the longest time, it had lived within him as a core aspect of who he was. Another life within his own, a life that he shared with in longevity, pain, and meaning. To give a Beacon was a gift, he had always thought. His occupied a burnt vessel, a Famished soul -- but that wasn't the fault of the flame, but the man who had given it.

"First, before any of this, I will paint the Black Sigil onto you. The Beacon will make it a true mark, sealing it onto your skin and flesh. It is a necessary component for the Binding to work. For the purpose of that, I ask: where would you like me to draw it? It is a large symbol; anywhere I put it, it will be noticeable. Most put it on their chests, backs, and so on. Mine is on the back of my neck, though it's mostly concealed by my hair, particularly if I let it grow out," the Argent nodded. He always said that -- as if to help defend his stupid decision to put the Rune in such an obvious place.

"Once I bring the Beacon to you and begin the initiation, I need you to recite the vow of the Ebon Knight. It is:

From Oaths, Order.
Order is my commitment. Strength is my tool. Belief is my weapon.
I am one blade among a million, pointed to the forms of our slavers; meant to drive through their necks. To rectify their scourge.

I am the Cleric that will cure the land. I am the Wraith that will cull the deathless. I am the Revenant that will hunt them beyond the grave.

From Oaths, Order. With Order, Strength and Belief, we will be free."

Upon reciting his words, he gathered a pen and quill from his satchel, so that he could ink on the Sigil. It would have to do. "You'll say those words so that Aldrin doesn't smite you. I must inform you that this is a serious vow you are undertaking: I will be obligated to hunt you if you betray us, and if you yourself become a Dranoch, the Beacon will purge you. So long as we are in contact, you will be my protégé in the Black Remedy, and I will be your Commander. Are you certain you really care all this much? Enough to condemn yourself to immolation?"

It was a reasonable question, he thought. Stephan couldn't imagine many people outside of Sil-Elaine being willing to risk death to this degree. Even if all they wanted was power. "If you truly feel as passionate as you claim, you will surely survive. If you are lying to me, though -- or yourself -- Aldrin will obliterate you. I cannot plainly enough describe his sheer absence of mercy."

Posted: **Thu Oct 22, 2020 2:19 am**

☠ 47th of Ash, Year 120, Earth's Rest ☠
Company: Stephan| Theme: Si Deus Me Relinquit| Thoughts: My life is yours to weild| Mood: Calm, Determined

☠ We were some ways from civilization, and old barracks of sort. It was quaint and seemed to be the place in which I would undergo my initiation. Any nerves I had about doing this, submitting myself to the risk, had faded. All I could think about were innocent people in my life, my father, Cullen, and everyone at the hospital.

I had come to see the horrors that lay within the shadows of my home, and that was all the motivation I needed to go through with this. Once there I found myself to be comfortable, setting aside the coat and boots I wore and coming out of my shirt, my bare skin warmed by the hearth of the room.

Ser Stephan began to explain the severity of the initiation, as it seemed by only a miracle one would be able to survive it. To appease this Aldrin was the key, to show him that one was worthy of the gift. Given my past, what I've done, I didnt have much hope. But I was willing to do what I must if it meant protecting those close to me. I had shown my willingness to fight the dranoch, no not willingness but passion. I was willing to give my life to the Remedy, to Aldrin if only to cull these beasts from Lorien and wherever else they would hide.

He made it clear that proving myself loyal, reciting the oath upon initiation was paramount and I could only nod in agreement. The last thing I wanted was to be killed by Malek's prophet. He explained that Aldrin would come to witness the event in person, and ask why me? Stephan didnt have much to go on except that broadening the order's reach was the best idea or else they would be snuffed out.

He explained the process of how it would work, and it sent a shiver down my spine. This was it, this was the pivotal moment in which my life was on the line. I nodded as he finished explaining, going into what came next. The inscribing of the rune itself, asking where I wished for it to go and how it would work with the beacon. "You can place it here on my back." I noted, moving my hair out of the way so it would cascade over my chest. It would be my third rune, as my other two runes sat on my shoulders.

He explained that in order to increase my chances of success, I had to swear an oath.
From Oaths, Order.
Order is my commitment. Strength is my tool. Belief is my weapon.
I am one blade among a million, pointed to the forms of our slavers; meant to drive through their necks. To rectify their scourge.

I am the Cleric that will cure the land. I am the Wraith that will cull the deathless. I am the Revenant that will hunt them beyond the grave.

From Oaths, Order. With Order, Strength and Belief, we will be free.

I whispered word for word in Silvain as he went to get something from his things, repeating the oath once more in my head so that it could sink in. I awaited his return as he forewarned that betrayal on my part or becoming one of the Dranoch would result in death. "I understand." i replied, nodding to acknowledge that my life was forfeit should any of these things happen.

"Did I not state ealier that I would trade my soul if it meant having the means to cure Lorien of this Dranoch plague, and by cure I mean to kill them all. If it means laying my soul at the feet of Malek then so be it." I affirned, my fist clenching as I awaited the process to begin. ☠

"Common Tongue"
"Silvain Tongue"
"Self-Thoughts"

Posted: **Thu Oct 22, 2020 9:17 am**

Mister Faust was certainly a unique man. A doctor with the attractive body of an athlete, Stephan noted, and the Runes of a mage. The Thespian could only tell that Bane was one of them, as it was one of Miranda's favorite arts, though he knew little of the deeper complexities of the magic. The fact that Cyrus was a mage already helped, though -- each Rune one bore increased their chance of survival, as the soul had already become weathered enough to tolerate the baleful effects of initiation. With the Black Sigil, it was no different.

Stephan moved behind the other man, and began to draw the Sigil where he had intended him to. As the Ebon Knight drew upon his soon-to-be protégé, who spoke the vow of the Ebon Knight as he did, repeating after his 'Commander'. The mage was incredibly impressed -- he spoke fluent Silvain, like the Sil'norai woman and his father, and spoke the oath itself with an impressive fervor. Aldrin would be impressed, too, to find a foreign man with such a grip on their culture and aspirations. Suddenly, he no longer felt so fearful of his prospects for survival.

Cyrus, then, went on to further bolster his confidence as he stated again his willingness to take the risk; his passion, his intent. Stephan was moved by his devotion to the cause -- it spoke of some inlaid altruism, he thought, or at least a willful need to purify his home of the encroaching filth. Both were respectable notions, and either or both of them were oft held by Ebon Knights. They cared for one another, or -- they relied on disgust. The desire to see the Darklands purged of its Blood Lords.

If Cyrus was already a mage, he had the potential to be an effective instrument in destroying these Dranoch. Stephan knew that he could be fostered well.

"Alright," he said softly, as the image of the Black Sigil filled the intended spot on his back. "I have faith in you. Now -- be still and focus your mind. I will bring us to the Dead Realm; it is the little-known land of ghosts, a layer over our reality seemingly made by accident. Malek has seen fit to purge it as well, and he litters Beacons throughout it to serve as our guide. I will project my soul out through the Realm and seek to find one. You will simply wait."

Before their mutual eyes, the veil separating the living world from the Dead Realm began to peel. A darkening overlay filled their view, and around him Cyrus would be able to view miasma -- a sort of physical, mold-like substance -- growing at the edges of the room, small particles of it floating through the air like upward-rising ash. Stephan's soul -- though still tethered to his form -- began to visibly worm out of him, connected by a string as he searched the vastness of the dead, snowy fields.

One of the reasons he had taken them to where they were was the absence of life, of buildings and walls, and other dividers. If Beacons were distributed evenly across the world... then the empty fields of snow, with no trees nor mountains separating them, would be the perfect place to look. He continued to roam the dark reality, flitting past Specters and Shades, who did not appear to notice him. They were few and far between out here -- the city was their hunting ground. Mostly, defiant Shades came out here to seek refuge in isolation, and Specters followed them to feed.

Before him and in the distance was the foot of a valley. He followed the line of mountains that extended before him, slowly rising up the knoll that led to the uninhabited valley of snow. As he wisped through the darkness, he found a feeling of warmth and an ambient glow. It was a Beacon: it looked something like the sun, a golden, fiery ball of light that illuminated and heated all that was around it. His own soul, which was bound to a Beacon and thereby resistant to harm from it, reached out and snugly wrapped itself around the fiery orb, leading it through the snowy fields back towards the tower-barracks they were huddled in.

On the way back, he noticed all of the ghosts electing to avoid the Beacon as he carried it across, as if it were some danger to them. When finally he brought it back through the dense wooden doors, he appeared to almost re-enter his body as he held the Beacon in his palm, the radiant orb of flame lighting the room with its brilliant wash of hue.

Stephan then began to press the fiery orb into Cyrus' back, through the Black Sigil, as if it were some sort of gateway. "Bind it to your soul," he said. As the Beacon began to submerge into his back, the initiation began. He would need to recite his vows as he bound the sphere and resisted destruction by its flame. The Knight did the best he could to help him bind it, keeping a steady and firm hand, as he clenched his teeth and worryingly awaited the emergence of his God-like master.

Posted: **Fri Oct 23, 2020 6:57 pm**

☠ 47th of Ash, Year 120, Earth's Rest ☠
Company: Stephan| Theme: Si Deus Me Relinquit| Thoughts: My life is yours to weild| Mood: Calm, Determined

☠ When it began, my eyes widened in shock if anything as we seemed to seep into another world. I could see the edges of the room degrade as if beset by some unknown force. The walls seemed to degrade and fill with an unknown substance.

I couldnt help the feeling that we were being watched, possibly by this Aldrin character, or maybe something else entirely? In order to steel my nerves, I decided to speak to Malek, beseech him since he was the progenitor of this magic. Closing my eyes I meditated, trying to enter a place of solace where I felt he would hear me if he heard me.

"If you can hear me, I beseech you. I've seen what this scourge can do, what they have done, and I want nothing more to see them erased. They are like cancer, one that will corrode this world if left to grow and fester. I pray you to give me the strength if you see fit to endure this initiation, so that I may be the one to cut this cancer down before it's too late." I whispered in Silvain, contemplating my purpose.

For the longest time, it was to eradicate the diseased humans that plagued this world. But now I've seen that there is a threat far worse than a flawed mortal. It may have been just a taste, but the dranoch would endanger everyone I care for; my father, Cullen, the people of Lorien. It was simply a matter of trading one crusade for another.

I could not have any doubts about this, my mind was clear and set on one goal, eradicating them wherever they may hide. As I contemplated my resolve, I felt a warmth pressed against my back, which meant Stephan must have found a beacon. With all of my willpower, I began the process of becoming one with the beacon. In my mind's eye, I could see it, a black orb emblazoned by a crimson ring of flames.

It sat before me, radiating with its umbral light, and with an outstretched hand, I grasped onto it in an effort to become one with it. A surge of heat began to fill my body, I could feel it within the core of my soul. It threatened to burn me away, but I refused. The flames enveloped me as I began to bind it to me, the pain on my soul as I tried to become one with it.

Moment by moment the orb began to seep into my body and the heat I was feeling only intensified. It felt as if I was being burned alive the more I absorbed the beacon into my soul. Once the orb had diminished inside me I found my body wracked with the flames and the sensation of burning from the inside out, my blood feeling as though it was boiling within my veins, my skin melting off.

It was unbearable but I had to endure it, I had to ensure it would meld with my soul or else I would be nothing more than ash. I grimmaced as I endured the communion with the beacon, trying my best to convince it, and the powers that be of my resolve and worth. ☠

"Common Tongue"
"Silvain Tongue"
"Self-Thoughts"

Posted: **Mon Oct 26, 2020 4:22 am**

It didn't take long for him to appear. Stephan bit his lip as he felt his presence forming, moving through the Dead Realm like the bullet of a gun, so quickly... he nearly gasped as the Jailor arrived. Suddenly, Aldrin's presence surrounded him; he held an arm upon his shoulder, covered in silvery armored talons, only for him to let go of that hold, moving his fingers to touch his neck, then to run across the length of his back. He moved across the circumference of his form before peering directly into his eyes, the black-haired Commander's eyes making contact with his soldier. And what a soldier he had been: disconnected from him for long stretches of time, barely concerned with orders. Since gaining the freedom that living outside of Sil-Elaine had given him, Taelian had changed. He wasn't even 'Taelian' anymore to many in his life; that loyal Cleric, that loyal Ebon Knight, was a far-off memory. He had, it would almost appear, chosen himself.

All of that was spoken within Aldrin's eyes as they shared their first glance. The handsome, raven-haired man nearly stared holes into his protégé. The darkness of the Dead Realm overcame his complexion at one point, shifting his features into that of a moving silhouette.

"Knight," he finally spoke. His voice was low, deep. He spoke in Silvain, obviously, for it was the language they had always shared.

"Lord Jailor."

"Eleanor tells me you've become a different man. That your journey has created the opportunity for your growth in astounding ways; you've become an impeccable mage, one with few compare. You've even joined the highest echelons of a foreign organization -- one whose influence increasingly grows within this world. For any of my Knights -- particularly you, Taelian, who I raised almost like my own -- this would be a proud thing to hear. Yet, it also comes with the knowledge that you have abandoned your post, seeking out some gilded fantasy within the frame of high-society. All while the threat of the Dranoch grows in Tyrclaid. Are you not aware of what Eleanor has discovered in that land? Do you not understand the risks?"

The man scowled at him, as deeply as he could, before turning away. He stepped forward, walking past the body of the blond-haired human who was in the midst of his initiation. If Aldrin did not allow the Beacon to bond to his soul soon, he would die. He was holding Cyrus' life hostage in exchange, for... something else.

Taelian's gaze narrowed. He knew not to speak until Aldrin was finished himself, and he knew that he was not done. The Cleric waited, peering onward as the Jailor's arms gripped one another by the wrist from behind his back. He stood in that commander-like pose he always did, chest slightly puffed forward, staring towards the brick wall of the barracks. Taelian could almost see him scowling and staring all the same, but within the Citadel Gallows. Some things -- some people -- never changed.

"Helena Flowers is a Dranoch Huntsman," he said. Taelian's heart dropped -- his suspicions, his greatest worries, were right. The Ebon Knight lowered his gaze. "She will likely join the Court of Dusk in the war, soon enough. With the balance of power shifting away... I can't imagine the effort will be able to hold. You may be witnessing the final days of this rebellion, Ebon Knight. The truth: I cannot blame you for Helena's ascension, as no one cell was meant to be able to fight off the grip of a Huntsman. If you had confronted her with Eleanor, the two of you would have simply died. But -- I will need you for something, very soon. I will need to leave Sil-Elaine for but a moment to hunt Helena myself. If I can kill her in my lonesome, then she will not be able to rejoin the Court. I will need you to assist me in slaying her as quickly as is feasible, so that other Courtiers do not somehow manage to join in her defense. If you can do this, then your transgressions will be forgiven," he said.

Taelian nodded. As demeaning as Aldrin was, his words were reasonable. Taelian was his soldier -- it was his right to command and enlist him. And if this was all that he required, then it was more than acceptable. "Aldrin..." the Argent began to speak, "I only left to seek power elsewhere. I am trying to expand my own capabilities -- and my base of power -- so that I can help aide you more substantively. One powerful mage at his lonesome is not enough to save SIl-Elaine, but if I might gain power abroad, then..."

The Jailor shook his head. "This is a war, not a myth. One man will not be able to change the tides alone. Even I relied on sentiment that already existed, seeds that had already been planted. These aspirations of yours are best left abandoned -- we could use you back at home to do more than what you can here, playing your games. Consider this a warning, Taelian: you may find that by the time you gain this 'influence' of yours, the war has already been lost. These moments in history fade as quickly as they come. Cease in your folly."

He pressed his own hand against Cyrus' back, then, sighing. "He speaks the oath well, but his hands are bloodied. He wields a violent soul; predilections towards the grim." The man coolly touched the skin of the Faust, his gloved palm running through his hair as he peered downward, observing him with a narrowed gaze. "I will offer him the chance at life, but know this: Malek's gift is a sacred thing, and those who defile it cannot be allowed to live. Keep him in line, and if you cannot -- destroy him. I will trust your judgment, perhaps only this once. Do not fail me, Rannoch."

The Beacon would bind to Cyrus' soul, and the Jailor would recede, his deathly presence fading as the shadows receded from the room, and the peel of the Dead Realm's layer rescinded, bringing them back to the simple colors of their regular world.

"You're lucky," said the Ebon Knight. "He spent what time he had grilling me, rather than you. How do you feel? Alive, I suspect. Don't take that for granted: few survive the process, even among the Sil'norai."

Posted: **Mon Oct 26, 2020 6:18 pm**

☠ 47th of Ash, Year 120, Earth's Rest ☠
Company: Stephan| Theme: Si Deus Me Relinquit| Thoughts: I feel like I've been slowly cooked| Mood: Exhausted

☠ I felt like I was being cooked alive for what felt like an eternity. The heat only seemed to progress the more I prayed to Malek, and praying this Aldrin figure didnt smite me. Soon, oddly enough, the heat shifted. It went from devouring me in intense heat to wrapping me up in a warm embrace.

It was comforting, like a mother embracing her child. It was a great feeling, and soon I could feel the immolation subside. Unconsciously I stood, as I could feel it as it was a sensation I could only describe as a pulse within my soul, the same as when I had gained my Bane & Mentalism runes. It was...pleasant and I found my blue eyes orbs opening with sigh happily from the feeling.

"From Oaths, Order.
Order is my commitment. Strength is my tool. Belief is my weapon.
I am one blade among a million, pointed to the forms of our slavers; meant to drive through their necks. To rectify their scourge.

I am the Cleric that will cure the land. I am the Wraith that will cull the deathless. I am the Revenant that will hunt them beyond the grave.

From Oaths, Order. With Order, Strength and Belief, we will be free."
I whispered aloud, seeing the room back to normal again, and knowing my life was spared and that the initiation was done.

I was still melting in it, allowing it to wrap around my very being, taking a moment before Stephan came to speak. Asking how I was feeling I simply chuckled, as I was drained, both mentally and physically from it all. "I feel as though I've been slowly roasting in an oven for supper." I jested, reaching for my shirt as I was drenched in sweat from head to toe, using it as a makeshift towel.

I could feel the rune on my back, as it felt strangely alive compared to the other runes I had. My hand caressed over it as Stephan explained how lucky I was, and that I should be grateful for surviving. It appeared Aldrin was indeed in the building at some point, as Ser Stephan explained. It seemed Aldrin was more curious about him than he was about the man Stephan was initiating.

I couldnt help but feel some type of way about putting him under his master's, now my master, scrutiny. "I apologize if extending this gift to me has brought you any trouble." I offered, hanging my head a bit as I felt responsible for his reprimand.

"If I may ask, does the beacon feel alive to you at all?" I know it was a wierd question to ask, but it was something I had to know. ☠

"Common Tongue"
"Silvain Tongue"
"Self-Thoughts"

Posted: **Wed Oct 28, 2020 3:18 pm**

The mage shrugged his shoulders as Cyrus apologized for causing him any form of difficulty. "It's no issue," he softly replied. Stretching out his arms, and attempting to relax his body, he tried to overcome the taxing burden that was the initiation. It was more difficult than others, though not more difficult than he thought it would be. He had to remember the proper steps later, though, and he had to be prepared for Aldrin's untimely visit -- if and when it came. A whole series of justifications could have been prepared earlier, which might have helped him deal with the stickler of a man.

"It went better than I thought, actually," he replied with a nod. "I was surprised that he didn't reprimand me more harshly. A lot of us just... up and leave the Remedy once we get off the train, disappearing into Daravin or whatever other country. I suppose he at least recognizes that I've not left, I'm just... doing things my own way. I'm building my own cell in Lorien, because... the infestation in Atinaw became too harsh for me to deal with. Luckily, it appears we've found a solution to that."

A solution, indeed: one that perplexed him immensely. The thought of Aldrin going to Helena directly and culling her, before she can reunite with the Court of Dusk in Sil-Elaine. She was a Huntsman, though, and if Aldrin died facing her... and if Taelian died alongside him, then the dreams of the revolution would be crushed.

He had to assist him: to help him cull the woman as quickly as the two stars of the Knighthood could. He was glad, in truth: he would finally be able to do something meaningful again. All of his missions in the last few years had essentially involved watching his peers die, only to make small, even trivial gains. Their numbers depleted, while it felt as if the ranks of the Dranoch infinitely grew...

And that thought brought him back into reality: he had created one more Hunter. One more Ebon Knight.

"The Beacon is alive," he said. "It is an echo of Malek's power; a fragment of his divine will. It is perhaps as alive as any spirit -- I believe that it is, essentially, a soul of its own. It radiates warmth like a hearth, making your body its home. It bonds with your soul. The Beacon presents a very intimate companionship to its wielder; you will find, now that you have received it, that you will never again feel wholly alone."

He looked to the other man, gauging him. There was a great deal left to tell him. "You will find yourself resistant to the effects of the cold, now, more and more as you progress in the magic. What is wintry now will feel like a cool spring; then the warmth of that season, and then the midst of summer by the time you've mastered the art. I could enter these fields of snow, now, wearing as little or less than you -- and feel as if I were in the summery glow of the sun. This skill is invaluable in Lorien," he explained. "Additionally - you now hold a title among our Order: Ebon Knight. You are a Cleric in rank, and though I remain a Cleric myself, I am your direct superior. You and I are the two members of the Lorien 'cell' of the Black Remedy, a cell I hope we might expand. We will have a safehouse where we can meet and record information, as well as plan missions to cull the undying. Not just Dranoch, but all kinds," he said.

Taelian looked to him, and bit his lower lip. He nodded. "Good job, Faust. You're one of us now, and it's pleasing to have another of our Order in this frigid land. I hope you and I can get to know one another better -- we should learn to be friends, rather than solely companions in arms. Fighting the Dranoch can be... harrowing; it can break a man. It's good to have... some semblance of company."

Posted: **Thu Oct 29, 2020 1:14 am**

☠ 47th of Ash, Year 120, Earth's Rest ☠
Company: Stephan| Theme: Si Deus Me Relinquit| Thoughts: I'm an Ebon Knight| Mood: Exhausted

☠ It was good to know he was in no trouble from initiating me, as I let out a sigh of relief sitting my sweat covered shirt down beside. I sat on the floor in front of Stephan as he explained that this gift was alive, that I held within me a piece of divinity, a piece of Malek's will.

He was right in the fact that even though I had just acquired it, it does feel as though I have had this rune since birth. He explained that it comes with benefits, ones that would be of great use in this frozen and cold land of Lorien. My body felt warm, both inside and out and I loved it. It was comforting to me to have this closeness, but even more so I had someone to build and learn with.

I had become a part of an order of knights, I couldnt believe it at first, but I could use the comradery. I was an Ebon Knight, a cleric in rank. Stephan was a cleric too, but from what I've learned he was way too advanced to be of simple starting rank. He must have never moved from that rank, which was curious to me as to why, but a question for another time.

The thought of planning missions and hunting the undead intrigued me, as I only knew of two types of undead; corpses and these dranoch as of now. I wondered what other beings could fall into that category as well. At the mention of a safe house, I looked around our surroundings and shrugged. "This seems like a good place, with some effort we could restore it to make it defensible. It was a barracks after all so I'm sure it could take an attack or two unless you have somewhere else in mind of course?" I inquired, my eyes finally looking upon Stephan in his entirety.

He was quite handsome now that I was able to look at him. He definitely held the physique of a knight; broad shoulders that accentuated his chest, a symmetrical face with a strong jawline, and an impeccably alluring gaze. I adverted my eye for a moment, shooing away any thoughts I had for the way he looked, as it would not bode well to form anything with him. It would be better if our relationship stayed mutual if not professional, he was my superior after all.

I was well aware of the intimacy of this feat he had performed, bonding magic to another, and chalked up the thoughts that seemed to swell when looking at him at this moment to that, and knowing they would fade eventually, like most of my feeling in the regards of love seemed to do so.

I looked to him as he gazed upon me and congratulated me on a successful initiation, speaking of wanting to become better acquainted now that I was a part of the order. "I've never been a knight, nor have I ever aspired to the knighthood, but I guess there's a first time for everything." I jested to that comment. "Plus I could use another friend, believe it or not, I have very few of those. Though I would enjoy the company of another in this endeavor as it does seem to come with its own stress." I added, standing from where I sat.

My pants had begun to stick to my form as the sweat from the initiation process had soaked them completely. Moving to look out the window I couldnt help but look toward where Essen was, my arms folded beneath my chest. My demeanor shifted as the thoughts and words began to come to mind. "I know a little bit about harrowing experiences. To be very frank, for the longest time I hated humanity as a whole. They had taken the one person I knew as a mother from me, all for the sake of greed. She was the reason I become a physician, to follow in her memory. She was the one who had given me my rune of Mentalism." I began, feeling a swell of emotions I had locked behind a wall never to revisit.

"She taught me everything I know today about medicine and the human anatomy, and to be a savior to those unfortunate. I was a doctor for those who couldnt afford proper medical care. I've saved a handful of lives........but have taken just as many in turn." I explained, my crystal blue orbs looking toward him, lit by the fire of the heart within the room we occupied.

I left it at that, not wanting to further incriminate myself to the argent and ruin something good between a potential friend and ally. I simply stood there, looking back through the window toward Essen's direction thinking. Thinking of the new crusade I have taken up, and knowing that these dranoch had no idea what lay in store for them. I vowed to master this magic in order to help eradicate them from Lorien, then the world.

"If you are up to it, shall we begin with the first lesson, as I'm sure learning to properly wield this Black Sigil takes time and practice, like any other rune magic. I have some strength in me to practice if you are up to it." I encouraged, extending a hand toward where Nevermore rested against the wall. the faint glow of amethyst brightened as I constructed a weave around the weapon.

With a gesture I compelled the sword into my hand as it jumped across the room. "Or we can wait till another time, I'm the process of initiation drained you in some way." I stated as I looked to him curious to know what he proposed our next move be. ☠

"Common Tongue"
"Silvain Tongue"
"Self-Thoughts"

Posted: **Thu Oct 29, 2020 11:08 am**

The doctor's suggestion that they convert this place to a base of operations... wasn't a bad one. It wasn't far from Essen, and it was isolated, defensible, private. They could practice their Sigilic Pyromancy here, without worry of being seen or disturbed. Their conversations, too, would remain discreet here -- and they had the snowy fields as their backyard, providing them an easy place to engage in magical and physical exercises, to improve their acuity in battle. "No, nowhere in mind myself," he replied. "It's a solid idea -- I think we should take up root here. This can be the base for our cell; our own barracks, I guess."

The mage looked around. There were beds scattered along the length of the wall, drawers, dressers, a mirror -- a sort of 'war map' in the center of the room. There was a door in the back that led to some storage, like food, preserved. That same storage room had wooden surfaces for cutting and preparing food, as well as a stew pot. Then, there was the ladder that led to the upstairs, divided by a hatch. He remembered there being a training room on the middle floor -- a sort of armory -- leading up to the third floor, which served as the master bedroom for whichever Argent had likely been meant to command this place. It was unusual to find places like this in Lorien, considering most of their soldiers weren't human. He supposed that the lower barracks were meant for Errants, or Errant Knights, while the upstairs was for a full Knight-Argent. He'd been up there once, and it was wildly fanciful. So -- it made sense.

As he pondered, Stephan noticed the other man looking at him -- staring him down. His face, his physique. He wouldn't have noted anything about their mutual stare if not for the fact that Cyrus averted his gaze once the two made eye contact, revealing some level of nervousness or embarrassment. At that moment, the Knight recognized the stare for what it was: a sort of... peek. A sign of attraction. He faintly grinned.

"Knight is just a title," he replied, moving their conversation away from whatever looks they had given one another. "Defender of the weak, warrior, soldier, protector. It's all the same. Knights are just exalted for what is perceived as their nobility; their chivalry. And -- indeed, many of them tend to be impeccable fighters, better than others. In Lorien, they -- we -- are also trained to be commanders," he said. Stephan was close to the rank of Knight-Argent; whispers and rumblings from above had informed him, through the weave of information he had within the Essen Diadrus, that his promotion was near. He would soon be a true and proper Knight, a commander of Hollows, one of those hefty, plate-armored men roaming the streets.

He listened to the other man, who spoke of his experiences; how he had hated humanity in the past, how he had lost his mother, who had given him magic. He had more than one Rune, then, more than one Mark of Control. He wondered how many.

More importantly, he could understand him. That pain and rage he must have felt -- the pain that had come from his loss, directed outward towards the world itself. Stephan knew it better than most. He nodded his head, slowly, and sighed. "I... know what you mean," he whispered. "I lost my parents to disease, but -- in the literal sense, I hated humanity too. For forcing us to be bound to that horrid wasteland, for taking away our ancestral home. But -- there are people, even humans, capable of good. Capable of compassion, empathy, care. Love. What is important is that we find one another, and brighten each other's lives. That's the least -- perhaps all -- we can do," he said, softly smiling.

Cyrus confessed to having taken many lives. That, too, was understandable to Taelian. He had killed many Dranoch; he'd killed others, too. Badland Raiders, bandits, those who had sold themselves to the Dranoch for a taste of eternal life. He'd also failed his comrades, let them die... left them to die. He had done so many things to survive. It appeared the two had much in common, or so he believed.

Stephan began to speak in Silvain -- because it appeared that Cyrus knew it. Which, to say nothing else, impressed him greatly. "You understand this tongue, yes?" he asked him, in his native language. "Why don't we speak together like this, from time-to-time? This will be our private tongue; perhaps even our intimate one," he grinned. He did feel tired from the initiation, but... he shrugged as the man raised the possibility of training. He wasn't entirely against it. At least, he thought, he could just explain things and observe. He didn't need to expend his own ether. Though, he wondered if Cyrus wasn't drained himself. It was a taxing initiation, probably on his ethereal reserves, too.

The mage glanced at his blade as it flew across the room. Right -- Mentalism. He had it, too.

"Impressive," he silently added. Stephan began to form a Weave himself, though he was terribly inept at the art. He condensed the energy within the air before him, beginning to peel it back, slice after slice, fragmenting it into countless shards. Before he knew it, it was tight enough to bind something to it; he'd had at least enough practice to form it. But -- he wouldn't even bother trying to use Compel. The Knight wasn't in the mood to embarrass himself, at least, not just yet.

"It seems we have much in common," he said. "Our magics, our language, even our pain. I am glad to have met you, Cyrus." With a slight nod, the mage turned around and began to step towards the surface of one of the beds, seating himself against the pleasant frame of the mattress. He crossed his own arms, then peered forward. "We can do whatever you want. Train, talk, even go our separate ways for the night. Though that wouldn't be my personal preference," he added. "I suppose we still have to deal with this Bathory fellow, so I should help prepare you as much as I can. Still -- for the night, why don't we rest? We can sleep in the barracks, talk. You can even stare at my chest again if you want: I won't stop you," he teased. Stephan was, very clearly, making some sort of flirtatious gesture, though he wasn't sure how it would be received.

"We could also get to know one another better," he nodded. "I'd be interested to know where a human learned this language. It's a rarity, outside of my homeland."

Posted: **Fri Oct 30, 2020 12:11 am**

☠ 47th of Ash, Year 120, Earth's Rest ☠
Company: Stephan| Thoughts: Someone is being Forward| Mood: Intrigued

☠ It was good to know we at least saw eye to eye on using this place as our base of operations. It would serve us well in the long run, more so once we fixed it up of course. There was a lot to consider now. I couldnt continue on as I was, more so I didnt need to hold my emotions in check so much as I had in the past. I could show how I felt just a little more, but not becoming an emotional mess.

I felt somewhat embarrassed at the fact that he caught me looking but it was innocent. I was ogling him in any way but mores appreciating his form, which all people did if not out loud internally. Moving on from that Stephan explained that the title of a knight was nothing more than that, a title. We were all soldiers, defenders of the weak and innocent, and in my case an avenger.

I was glad he could empathize with me, in the pain of my past as he seemed to share the same hurt I had endured. His words that followed after made me frown a bit. I too lost my biological parents, and my adoptive mother. It was a pain that no one should ever experience, the loss of the ones who brought you into the world, or have taken you in and cared for you. He tried to encourage me that not all of humanity was inherently evil.

As much as I wanted to believe it I knew far too well just how malicious mortals could be no matter how much credit we gave them. But for now, I would keep the faith, for his sake, for the sake of our new bound. He was optimistic and I admired that, I wish I had that but I was jaded early on. I guess it's what happens when you were raised by a former serial killer. Empathy was something I struggled with, but it was a work in progress.

He spoke in Silvain and asked if I was comfortable speaking in it. "Why of course, it is what works best for us." I agreed, hearing him explain that we could use it as our own way of communication. It would be nice to speak in a language I was comfortable with.

When I called my sword to myself he was impressed by my skill. I watched as he formed a weave of his own, but never called forth what it was around. It was obvious he was indeed tired from the initiation. I could feel the weight of it myself as my adrenaline was wearing off, and decided maybe it was best not to train just yet. Stephan admitted he was glad to have met me, noting our many similarities.

Setting my sword down against the wall, I leaned against it as Stephan made himself comfortable on one of the beds. He gave options as to what could come next, training, conversation, going back to the city till we were to meet again. He even teased that I could stare at his chest again. "I see, so you did notice that." I mused with a chuckling breath. He was flirting with me it seemed. It was clear he wasnt worried about professionalism, and I would entertain him.

He wanted to know me better, and I was okay with that, as he was curious as to how I came to be fluent in Silvain. "From what my adoptive parents told me, it was the only language I spoke when they adopted me. Regina, my adoptive mother, was of Sil'norai descent and believed that I am of the same blood. I never showed the signs of being Sil'norai, but the speculation is that my human heritage was just a little stronger than any sil'norai blood I may have."

In truth, I didnt have any intention to check, it would be nice to know, but I was comfortable with what I know now about myself. I couldnt help but come to stand in front of the hearth. It was clear he was flirting so I would give him what he wanted if only a taste. Seeing that my pants were still sticking to my legs and it was becoming uncomfortable, I took them off so they could dry, laying them in front of its warmth.

Now naked I sat in front of him and covered myself with my shirt as I looked at him. "Now that I think about it, I dont know much about you. I feel like I've been exposing myself and have learned very little in return about my commander." I was truly curious about this man. I looked to him with a burning desire to learn of this man that seems to come from out of nowhere. ☠

"Common Tongue"
"Silvain Tongue"
"Self-Thoughts"

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