Finders Keepers

[Arkash]

Arkash's threat was heard loud and clear, the surprise in Taelian's eyes reflected that. Arkash held the gun with an unsteady arm, his gaze wrought with raw emotion. He tried to exude strength, but only revealed his insecurity in doing so. Taelian thought he was so weak as to accept the pity of a man that had tried to kill him? He could express such thoughts to his gun.
Taelian had been nice to him, though. So few strangers treated him with such kindness, but to him, that was only a declaration of superiority. He didn't need handouts or apologies to feel better, he affirmed. He didn't need pity, or sympathy, or even companionship. All he needed was strength, control, power. Those were the only things that could put him at ease. It was only when he'd asserted himself as untouchable; when the world could no longer overtake him, that he would feel okay.
So, he kicked his bag and demanded Taelian take what was his while he kept his gun at the ready. With a psychological pump, he prepared himself to squeeze the trigger, to strike the human with an explosive shell. He'd made it a contest of survival, of control. And though Arkash desperately wanted to win that contest, he couldn't yet tell if he had it in him to kill a nice man, regardless of whether they'd tried to kill him or not just minutes prior.
As time revealed, he wasn't prepared to pull the trigger. Taelian cast more magic, and another one of those holes opened, just far bigger than the one that had volleyed the laser at him. Oh, gods. Was Taelian going to blast him with a giant laser? Was that it? Was he going to die? With no answers to those questions, a wave of pitch-black darkness spewed forth with the god mage at its epicenter. His eye went blind, and all he could feel and hear was the cold and the billowing winds. Not even his powerful nose could help him, as the harsh wind just blew the scents away,
"S-stop," he stammered as he took a step back, then lowered his pistol a little as he squinted into the darkness. Something scurried, crawled through the dark, but Arkash couldn't make it out. Venom poured liberally again from his lips while he stared into the empty void, simply waiting for whatever came next. It was nerve-wracking, terrifying. It spiked his blood and lit up his nerves with life, but as quickly as the fear came, it receded with the darkness. He could see again, and the shadows pulled through one of the holes in the air; a large one like the one Taelian had created just moments before.
Taelian was gone, along with the darkness. Had he gone through the hole? Was that a portal? His method of travel? He just punched holes in the air like doors? Arkash lowered his gun when his rage came undone, though he wasn't far behind it. For pride alone, Arkash had sacrificed a brighter path. He'd forfeited a new arm, citizenship, a job, and a friend, all because he couldn't accept his own weakness. What had he done? Regardless of his own heinous acts, the hole stayed open.
"Wait-" He lowered his gun and took a step toward it, only to hesitate. What was he doing? He'd just threatened the man. He couldn't just walk in like everything was fine. It wasn't fine; Arkash came to realize that he was despicable. Someone had tried to help him, the bottom feeder, the lowest of the low, and he threw it back in their face. Before he could further contemplate his disposition, the hole closed, and the sound of howling winds returned to the snowy fields. He was gone.
Arkash stared in disbelief while he stood alone in the messy snow: Taelian had left him. Wasn't that what he told him to do? Why was he surprised? Perhaps some underlying part of him wanted... Wished someone would try for him, but they were delusions, a fantasy. Arkash lowered to sit on his legs in the snow. He wasn't worth such tales of redemption or purpose. The best that people like him could hope for was survival. In that sense, he'd done Taelian a favor. He was too much, even on his best days. How could he blame anyone for leaving him?

There were no distractions laid out before him. His path was made clear with the distant whistle of a locomotive's front. The train: It was close. Arkash's eye drifted to his tipped-over bag before he made a short dash for it and slung it over his shoulder. His scales stung with his burns, but he didn't have time to worry about pain. The next thing to sling over his shoulder was his steel arm. With a shaky exhale, he ran for the tracks and climbed over the mountain of snow to stand over the ridge while he strapped his prosthetic on properly and tied the support brace that allowed him to climb before he swapped the hook hand for his pick.
A glance to his right revealed the train hurtling down the track, and Arkash lowered into a squat as he looked over the working hollows below. Just a moment or two after the train came by, Arkash lept at it and sank the pick of his prosthetic into the sheet metal while his claws clung to the upper frame of the caboose. With the use of his feet, he crawled to the roof and slung himself onto his front, where he rested for a moment.
After his short respite, he slung his backpack around to his front while he rolled onto his side. From the roof of the train, he peered inside and found that the egg was gone. Taelian had taken it back - good. A brief sigh saw him come undone, and he fully relaxed on the sloped roof. On his way to Lienburg, he lamented his decisions and reviewed the happenings in his head on repeat. He'd done the right thing, but for the wrong reasons. With deep sorrow, he pulled at the lip of his mask and stared into the grey sky while the train carried him to his destiny.

[Taelian Edevane]

After returning to Essen, Taelian set down his belongings -- including the sodding egg -- and sighed deeply, a frown running practically from ear-to-ear. He waited for a moment before he would return it, settling onto his bed and looking outward with no small degree of frustration. His vanity depicted a man with wild, snowed-on hair, even an exhausted man. He had expended a fairly significant amount of ether during the interaction; perhaps no more than halfway to overstepping, even if he included the long-distance portals, but . . . he'd been reckless. And his recklessness had done nothing for him. He'd almost killed an innocent man, one who was still humiliated and enraged by the encounter, probably even now.

He got his stupid egg back -- but with things he would describe as 'costs' attached, and all of them were arbitrary. He knew the Pact mages would ask him why he'd taken so long, too: he couldn't dare to give them a proper response. I couldn't find it in the snow, maybe. Perhaps he would tell them the truth -- that someone had stumbled upon it and hid for warmth. But that meant dealing with their follow-up. The whole situation, so fresh on his mind, brought a curious level of sorrow to him. It was strange, even detached. Why did he feel the way he did, he could only ask himself -- was it guilt at what he, specifically, had done? Or what he'd left behind?

A man, alone in the snow, with no life or warmth for many miles. Lacking limb, lacking sight, Nameless and without enough belongings for him to ever feel safe. He had missed the train, and for that, he could have possibly died in the freezing cold. To only make it worse, he was a reptile. How frigid must he have been?

The mage found himself wanting to go back; to apologize, to take him to Lienburg. He would have offered him a portal to Lienburg anyway, even despite it all, if only he could open two at the same time. His mutations made him choose only one man to reliably leave, and he chose himself.

A few hours passed, and he returned the beacon to the Pact mages. They would ask him to place it back the following day, but until then they could... study it or whatever they intended to do, and he could replenish his ether reserves so as to not suffer too much strain. While at the library between the courtyard and his chambers, the Sil'norai picked up a tome on Mentalism: The Many Pillars of Mind Magic, by Heinrich Henkel of the Northern Pact. He noticed that the Riens almost always used their own books -- they were so... isolated from the outside world. That man, Arkash, had almost no concept of what was going on; each act of magic confused him, perhaps never seen before that moment. Though... he knew of Shrivenflame.

There were so many oddities to this nation. He could barely begin to describe them all. Tucked away in his chambers, that evening, he opted to push away the thoughts on the verges of his conscious mind, instead focusing on the text. Magic was often how he occupied himself in these moments of deeper thought.

The Neurocrux is an odd thing: it is the core of Mentalism, and it is unlike any other 'acquisition' of any other magic that I know of. It is acquired upon initiation itself; a sort of offering by the Mark of Control, an augment to the brain to be able to process the emotions of others, and the curvature of reality, within one's brain in accompaniment to their already-existing thoughts and functions. It allows the mage to do so many things; mind-reading, asserting their will, crafting Obelisks (see Chapter 4, Mind-Pylons)... oh, and crafting the Weave, the foundational element of Mind Magic world-warping, as it is sometimes academically called. Now, the question: do I feel more intelligent now that I have a Neurocrux? No, not at all. Was I already of masterful intelligence to begin with? Yes.

Taelian blinked. "Gods, Rien manuals can be bloody strange."

Many texts -- particularly foreign ones -- would go on to describe the Mural and Tethers next, but I will actually go straight to the Weave, as one cannot begin mind or emotion-warping until later into their progress through the magic. So: the Weave. The Weave is sort of a shell around physical space, though it does exist within that space as well. Think of it sort of like an egg--

He frowned. "Not another fucking egg reference."

--like an egg, with the outer shell, and then the yoke within. The yoke is its own space, but other physical objects can almost become a part of that. And -- like the reality within -- they can be manipulated. This is no more prominent than in the ability Fashion (see Chapter 9, Master-Spells), and no -- not the sort that you wear. However, earlier spells demonstrate the basic qualities of world-shaping as well. Now, to specifically define the Weave a bit more clearly: it appears like a crystalline, transparent-purple... shift within reality, like odd geometrical shapes moving about, or shards of glass. Images within are often disrupted; divided between fragments, like an image portrayed by a broken mirror. One can use the Weave to push, pull, stagnate, crush and alter. Most of the abilities within Mentalism are not focused around the Weave or its pseudo-reality warping capabilities, but it is still an important and deadly part of the magic.

In order to craft a Weave, one must harness their natural ether through the Mark of Control, and channel that ether to the intended space. They must attempt to pull it apart, then; some describe it as attempting to pull away at glass seams, like that of the broken mirror example, but I describe it more like peeling a banana. Particularly because peeling a banana is actually fruitful, unlike...

The mage rolled his eyes, wondering if 'fruitful' was intended to be a pun; also, whether his ridiculous tangents were actually necessary. Still: that part was the important bit. He began to channel his own ether, directing it into the space before him. He envisioned with thought and will, what the man attempted to describe: a shifting, purple-crystalline warp in the fabric of space. It wasn't all too dissimilar from Transposition in that he was editing matter through will, and knowing that, he found that he held a sort of edge. The mage could see the crystal-like edges of the Weave forming, even... hardening, and he attempted to pull them into the fractured shape by almost rowing with his palms. Before long, he managed to pull the Weave into its proper form, though he would need to practice until he was capable of forming it without the extra steps; rather, immediately crafting it in perfect shape the moment his ether hit the air.

The Knight looked back into his small 'novel', wondering what sort of stupid-but-humorous quotes might be found next.

Now that you've successfully peeled your banana, you must pull the banana back to you so that you may devour it. That brings us to our next ability, one of two in this Chapter -- Compel.

Taelian was cringing, again -- pull back the peeled banana to eat it? He hoped not all Lodge books were this odd. The libraries in Melitene actually appeared to have been written by academic professionals; something he was already beginning to miss, dreadfully.

Compel is simply the movement of the Weave, and whatever is within it. Many people call it the 'pulling' ability because of its dichotomy to Impel, but Impel isn't actually a pushing ability either (see p. 49). Compel can be used to levitate, to lift and suspend, to do all sorts of things. Mentalism is very challenging -- but rewarding -- in that many of its applications require creativity, whether in learning how to emotionally break someone (see Chapter 6, Mind-Shattering) or to lift and throw about objects, by using Compel and Impel collaboratively. Now: in order to utilize Compel, one must reel in the ether they utilized almost like a fishing line. Pull it back with your palm, inviting the ether to return to your body. It is actually an oddly natural sensation, many find, as they are simply beckoning for that ether to return to them, the same way it left them. Of course, it cannot be refunded, but the familiar motion is beneficial.

Taelian followed the prompts of the guide, attempting to move the Weave back to him. He adjusted his footing so that there was an object between him and the location the Weave had formed, so that he could grip it and return it to his hand along the way. It was simply a china cup, but if anything the value and ornate nature of the item -- he thought -- would compel him not to simply let it fall. He pulled back the Weave, slowly, rescinding it to his grip by reeling in the ether. He focused, intensely, beckoning it nearer and nearer with his palm...

When it was close enough, he attempted to grab the China, condensing the ether within the Weave and gripping onto the item before beginning to pull. As he reeled it in, however, the magic that formed around the cup had a moment of what he would describe as slippage, where it receded. From mid-air, the chinaware fell, meeting the ground with a destructive crash as the shards flew across the floor. "Shit..." he muttered beneath his breath. The mage would need to seek out a serving bo-- no. He shook his head. "Varek," he called out to his one Hollow. He was beginning to grow used to commanding him.

The being opened his closet door, coming out, its head twitching as it hunched sideward over its neck. "Jal," he said. The creature came. Taelian then offered it a broom from the side of the closet, and directed it to sweep at the fragments across the floor. He, himself, would return to his absurd book -- though he needed to practice more with Compel, and the Weave.

"What a maddening day," he voiced. He would often talk to himself, if Varek was there. Though he was a Hollow, he was oddly... humanized. "I need to get myself better books. These Pact mages are sniffing questionable flowers."

[Haldir]

Oh Dear, you seem to have contracted a REVIEW!

XP:

• Arkash -20 {No Magic}
  Taelian -20 {10 for Mentalism}

Pieces of knowledge:

• Arkash

  
  Climbing: A train.
  Climbing: Sheet metal.
  Climbing: To the roof of a caboose.
  Climbing: While the surface is moving.
  Climbing: Hooking with your pick and pushing with your legs.
  Survival: Building a root fire.
  Survival: Take a break when traversing the cold.
  Survival: Warming up with magic.
  Survival: Follow landmarks so that you don't get lost.
  Survival: Taking Shelter from harsh conditions.
  Survival: The appropriate clothes to retain warmth.
  Unarmed Combat: Dodging lasers.
  
  Non - Skill
  Taelian: Tried to kill you because you stole his egg.
  Taelian: A half elf.
  Taelian: God Mage.
  Taelian: Cared enough to try and make it up to you.
  Taelian: Tried to help you.
  Taelian: You shut him out and threatened him.
  Taelian: Left, as you demanded.
  

  Taelian

  
  Mentalism: The Neurocrux
  Mentalism: The Weave
  Mentalism: Reality-Warping
  Mentalism: Compel
  Mentalism: Compel can do more than push
  Mentalism: Holding an object within the weave
  Transposition: Farsight
  Tactics: Ambushing a foe
  Tactics: Striking first, striking hard
  Tactics: Striking from an unknown place
  Tactics: Calling a ceasefire
  
  Non - Skill
  Arkash: Nameless
  Arkash: I almost killed him
  Arkash: Felt humiliated by me
  Arkash: Kicked my magic egg
  

Loot: N/A

Injuries: N/A

Comments:

• If you have any questions, comments or concerns, let me know. Enjoy your rewards!