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Unbroken

Posted: Fri Oct 30, 2020 12:44 pm
by Taelian Edevane
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81st of Ash, Year 120
Previous

He could feel it -- its warmth, swelling within him. It wasn't blood... it was something else. He understood now. The rest of the truth came to him in the form of light, as the two men flew ever-nearer to that... Divinity, feeling its glow. Somehow, he could see his father within it; he could feel the loving bond they used to share, as if the man were still right there before him. He felt him, perhaps staring down at him. A thing anyone would've wanted in their death -- that feeling of being wanted, of being loved, of being remembered.

He so did miss them: Liara and Damien, his parents. His beautiful mother and father, covered in filth and corruption yet in so many ways, serene. He remembered the downcast gaze of that woman... but he also remembered her love. "Mother," he whispered softly to himself, as they faced the crystalline sun. He couldn't feel her within it, oddly enough, but the aches of his heart seemed to resound with her memory all the same. He could see her smiling face, contrasted with her grim, sullen one. Somehow, now, he understood... it was because she knew she was going to die.

Taelian understood a lot of things, now. Memories of things he never knew. His father had been corrupted -- somehow; he didn't even know how it had happened, at least not at first. As he drew closer, and closer, the picture became more clear. Memories of their lives came to him, from before he was even born. Cults, secrecy, games, manipulation, rage -- sorrow.

He was not born of his mother. He was born of a wound, extracted from his father's chest, implanted as a mockery by... by... a God. Venadak. A Lord of Bel; a darkening, twisting, hateful force. Suddenly, death's embrace no longer felt so soothing, as he learned of what felt like illusions -- memories that surely, surely had never transpired. His mother, not sharing in his blood; his veins instead filled with latent Divinity?

He'd only briefly heard of these things before -- those sorts of entities. Draedan. Now that he pondered on it, Aldrin had confessed to being one right before Taelian died.

But he wasn't dead... no. He felt a wrist holding his own. The divine glow of the spark faded, and Riven within it, as this unimaginable world receded from his view. His eyes opened, and he stared into the depths of a cold and unfamiliar room. He was in Melitene, but -- not in his own bed. He was in the examination room, for... corpses. For their mutations to be made into artifacts. A creed they all agreed to upon death.

"He has no mutations?" Eloise asked. "How is that possible? I've seen them."

Wylen shook his head. "I don't know," he quietly replied. Lethiril, all the meanwhile, sobbed as he held his hand. His face was buried into his lap; what must've been a cold and miserable sensation. It seemed that no one noticed that he was actually alive.

He didn't know what being a Draedan meant. Was it something he was meant to keep secret? To share, to... use? Why had Aldrin kept it a secret?

There would be no way to hide it from them. They knew he was a mage, and now, suddenly... he couldn't feel that ether anymore. He couldn't even feel his beacon. Instead, he felt something else. As he stared forward, pondering it all, Lethiril's face rose and his eyes stared into his own. He smiled, jubilantly, and shot forward to offer him an embrace. Taelian accepted it, but laid limp as if he were still dead. He looked at his arms, everything; minor traces of that ashen curse still remained on him, but he was recovering. Rapidly. He was... changing, into something else.

"I'm not dead," he finally said. "I'm not dead."

Re: Unbroken

Posted: Fri Oct 30, 2020 2:46 pm
by Taelian Edevane
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He stared forward, and the three in the room stared back, though Lethiril quickly left the room to grab him a table with some food, and a kettle for him to drink tea from. Taelian normally hated tea, but he didn't mind Lethiril's; the sweet southeastern vintage, creamy like milk, often soothed his throat and helped him to relax. Still -- that left a window of time where he was alone with Eloise and Wylen, which... wasn't something he wanted, right now. He wanted family, friends, lovers -- people he cared about. People he could say he wholly trusted.

Not them. But -- it was alright. If he'd learned anything in the past... however long it had been, it was that -- maybe -- he was a little more resolute than he thought. A little less willing to let it all go; to die, to leave life behind.

He knew, most importantly, that he would need to be honest. There would be no explaining his way out of all this; averting death, losing his magics and mutations... everything that had transpired. He felt an overwhelming surge of energy moving out through... what felt like his core. There was movement deep within him. Even now, he was changing. He felt... strong.

"How are you alive?" Eloise asked. It was a forward question, but it was the one he expected. The man laid out his arms before him, and leaned back into the comfort of the pillows they'd placed behind his head. It was funny that they even cared to, considering they believed him dead. Corpses had no sense of comfort.

"I'll tell you once Lethiril gets back," he replied. The two other Thespians glanced at one another, and Eloise nodded her head.

"Okay," she simply said. And they waited.

As minutes passed, the Orkhai returned to the room with a sliding surface, suspended on legs of wood: on it was a platter of food, warm tea, and a larger glass china that contained what he supposed were his refills. The mage nodded, thanking Lethiril softly under his breath, before taking a sip. His movements felt odd, different somehow. Like he was using different arms, maneuvering a different body. Nothing was... quite the same.

"Okay," he said, echoing Eloise's confirmation moments prior. "Where do I begin? I'm... a..." he paused. There was a certain hesitation in his words. Biting his lower lip, he shook his head. Perhaps he wasn't ready, after all.

"Come now, Taelian," said Wylen. Lethiril looked down and frowned.

"I'm a Draedan," he said. Eloise's stare grew more intense, her brows raising for a moment before they settled. "Believe it or don't, that is why I'm alive. And why I've lost my magic. Because... my soul is blocked from raw ether now, by a Divine Spark."

Re: Unbroken

Posted: Fri Oct 30, 2020 3:21 pm
by Taelian Edevane
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Raw Magic was processed by a regular soul, which channeled Ether through it to perform its task. It was sometimes called 'mundane magic' for that reason, at least contrasted to the magic of the Divine, who performed their feats through an actual quantity called Divinity.

Divinity was the purest make of reality. It was permanence, and power. It was superior to Ether in many ways, and only the Adac -- or so anyone knew -- could process it. Truth be told, few mage-scholars even knew much about it. It mostly lied in the wide, grey area between theory and fact, but it was undeniable to the people present that Taelian spoke the truth. "I see," Eloise simply replied. "And how do you know this?" she asked.

"Because I know," he simply answered. "I feel it -- within me. In the moment of my death, I... was saved by it. Perhaps... saved by... Him," he described vaguely, but everyone knew what he meant.

"Your... father?" the Umpire queried. "This... divine father of yours. Do you know who he is?"

"Yes," he softly replied. The mage quietly peered towards Lethiril. "You would know him," he said. "The maker of this plane. He's--"

"Venadak?" Lethiril questioned. "Oh, Gods, no... a Corrupted?"

"Yes," he nodded. To the dismay of everyone in the room -- including himself. He had learned how he was conceived, and it was gruesome, and cruel. A feat meant to humiliate, to mock, to deride. He was born out of hate. Unlike with the children of the Living Gods, as he could only imagine, there was no grand narrative, or the feeling of being 'chosen' for something greater, something meaningful. Just spite, death, and confusion.

He was... more confused than he'd ever been. One thing struck him the most: this impression, within the feeling that invaded him, that he'd never been Famished at all. That he'd only convinced himself that he was. The Draedan's lips curled into a frown.

"You must tell no one," said Eloise. "Not even your fellow Thespians. Especially not them. You are aware that Divine Sparks can be stolen, yes? I'm certain that not a single person in Melitene knows how, but they'll try to find out and come for you if they learn. Not everyone can be so fortunate to be born with one; but it's something almost every powerful mage would murder for. They'd even murder you, Taelian," she warned.

"And what about you?" Taelian asked, bluntly. "Why should I trust you? You've done nothing of late but use me. I'm beginning to wonder if I shouldn't leave this place behind. Especially if it's a den of vipers to me, now," he spat.

"Taelian..." Eloise whispered, frowning. "I wouldn't. I don't even want to be Divine -- I have pride in my magic; a mage is what I am, and I cannot fight for mage-kind if I am not among them. I have no desire to seek after Divinity. It destroys most who follow it -- even the Gods themselves. This is your burden... and like before, it will be one that I help to guide you through, but I will not attempt to take your place."

She seemed... genuine. Unexpectedly, he found himself believing her. Taelian's brow relaxed, the own extremities of his features lessening. Quietly, perhaps weakly, he nodded. "Should I even be here, though?" he asked. "I'm not a mage anymore. I'm not a Transposer. I shouldn't be a Thespian."

The woman shook her head. "You're still a Necromancer, right?" she asked. "So -- you're still a mage. Even if you're piss-poor at it. As for Transposition... well; it's a requirement to achieve the rank, but you've achieved it. I won't banish you for being the child of a God. In fact, perhaps this was some positive turn on destiny. Perhaps, with this, you'll be more empowered to bring forth positive change. I don't know; I have no idea what this means for you, or for this organization. But... Godling or not, you should stay," she said.

The man exhaled, before nodding in affirmation. "Okay," he said. "But -- can we go back to Lorien? There's still much to be done there. I don't know how I'll fulfill my purpose anymore, but... I'll try as much as I can. Can you count on that, at least?"

"I can," she replied. "We'll have to see what sort of things you can do, now. I've heard that it takes a while -- that the spark has to... mature. We'll have to see how that goes."

Re: Unbroken

Posted: Mon Nov 09, 2020 3:20 am
by Haldir
Oh Dear, you seem to have contracted a REVIEW!


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