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In a surprise turn of events, Alses gets a delivery.
(This is a thread from Mizahar's fantasy role play forum. Why don't you register today? This message is not shown when you are logged in. Come roleplay with us, it's fun!)by Dariel on December 18th, 2012, 9:29 am
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by Alses on December 18th, 2012, 12:25 pm
It was a decidedly bedraggled and rather windswept Alses that had struggled into the Dusk Tower that afternoon. Fat and heavily pregnant clouds, fluffy and bulgingly dense, had settled over the city in the night, herded and corralled between the taller mountain peaks by the continual winds of Kalea. Penned up with no escape from their stacked holding patterns over the celestial city, something had had to give – and it did, in the uncertain light of dawn. The milling cumulus split open en-masse, sending a maelstrom of billions of white flakes down onto Lhavit, buffeted hither and yon by the energetic winds. Frequent snowfalls were a feature of Lhavit in the winter; whenever the jaunty mantle of snow that the city wore for much of the season started to look a little dirty and bedraggled, a big new snowfall could generally be counted upon to fluff it up again, returning it to sparkling, pristine whiteness. This particular fall was rather a heavy one, and looked set in for the duration of the day. Alses had woken that morning, reluctantly, to the skirling whiteness pushing against the window of her room in the Towers Respite. Not even the near-tropical warmth of her chamber – a creature of heat and the sun, she always made sure her fire was piled high to burn through the night – made any appreciable dent in the flakes mounding up against the windowpane. Part of her, remembering the Tower secretary's admonishments the last time she'd forced her way through a storm to work, thought about just remaining abed, curled up under the blankets and lazily watching the leaping flames, but idleness did not sit well with her at all, infused with all the energy and spirit of the morning sun. It was only a bit of snow, after all – how dangerous could it be, with the heat of the skyglass and her own knowledge of Lhavit's streets to guide her steps? The rather hot and bothered unfortunate who had been directed to keep the Respite's entry hall clear of snow tracked in by visitors leaned on the doors with a tired smile and wished her good luck with her errands, standing ready with his broom to deal with the drifts that would rush in the instant she pushed her way out onto the snow-dusted streets. A deep breath of deliciously warm air filled her lungs before, in a single fluid movement, she forced open the Respite doors (against what felt like an almost solid wall of wind) and plunged out into the wintry whiteness of Lhavit.
A She quickly came to regret the decision to struggle in, however; most of the other regular couriers had decided that discretion was the better part of valour, and had remained in their homes, leaving the Tower with only a skeleton messenger staff, mostly those who lived in the place for one reason or another. Making her way through the whiteness of Lhavit in full snowfall was a nightmare. Time and again, as she forged ahead through the drift-filled streets, she had blessed her knowledge of the city in all weathers, and of all the small, shadowed shortcuts that made the journey that bit easier; every little helped. Minaret navigation, that was how she thought of the process of finding her position from the soaring rooflines looming up out of the billows of swirling flakes; the particular placement of spires and towers had never led her wrong yet. She was most thankful, however, for the underbridge, an almost unknown feature of the impossibly-graceful skyglass bridges of Lhavit. Indeed, she'd not have known about it at all save for serendipity leading her to observe a small figure emerge from an almost invisible skyglass door set into one of the bridge supports. The underbridge, as she'd termed it, was a small tunnel-like structure that ran along the underbelly of the arcing ribbons than soared between peaks, allowing the Akka priesthood easy access – presumably for means of maintenance inspection, although what sort of maintenance might be needed was a mystery to Alses. Whatever was necessary, it was probably considerably more arcane than anything a normal engineer would be required or expected to do. Thus it was that after delivering the last package on her current run – here she thanked the Secretary for his consideration, since it had been the blacksmith's shop, Touch of Fire, and she'd been able to warm herself thoroughly by the forges – that Alses made her way back to the Dusk Tower. Through judicious use of shortcuts, alleyways that ran near-parallel to the prevailing winds rather than full in their face and said underbridge, Alses arrived at the normally-welcoming gates of the Dusk Tower slightly less caked in snow and certainly much less cold than would otherwise have been the case, just as they were hauling the great gates shut, with a prodigious amount of effort and shouting. They were almost never moved, which explained the difficulty the poor guardsmen drafted in for the job were having, the hinges squealing and shrieking in protest before the sound was whipped away by the wicked, snow-laden winds. Alses was very glad that that task, at least, was not her problem; she slipped in between the slowly closing gates, hurried to the Dusk Tower doors and vanished inside, thankful to be back in the warm; the braziers the guards had near the gates not really cutting it. Mr. Secretary's office was darkly cosy, made snug by the roaring fire he kept unfailingly blazing in the hearth. The scuttle was always full of tinder-dry wood, and he never minded – or at least had never voiced an objection to - a shivering Ethaefal tossing some extra fuel into the flames after coming in from the cold. “Chilly out there still, I take it?” he observed with wry understatement as she crossed the threshold. “Very,” she agreed, shortly, immediately moving over to what had become her accustomed spot in his office, right in front of the fire, drinking in its prodigious warmth with a smile of perfect, simple contentment on her face. After a discreet few minutes, the dapper man joined her. “It's appreciated, you know,” he said quietly. “We don't have many apprentices after – well, you know, you were there, if memory serves - and still fewer of those take their chores for the Tower as seriously as perhaps we'd like.” Alses half-smiled. “We don't have the means at present to pay our tuition otherwise, Mr. Secretary, magesmith or no,” she observed. “Besides, I know there's a great many more unpleasant tasks out there. We might complain when you load us down with boxes to take all over Lhavit, but we know we could be forced to...to...” she cast about for a worse fate “...I don't know, work in the paddy fields or something similar.” Was that a smile on his face? “Very true. Now-” Just then, they were interrupted by three brisk knocks on the door, and someone stepped through, almost blending with the dark skyglass for a moment. Then the lights shifted in the stone, and the figure became more visible, more so when the hood went back. She blinked in momentary surprise – had he been so blasted by the snow that it'd somehow stuck to his skin? She was on the verge of ushering him forwards to take her place by the fire when common sense told her he simply had pale skin, very much like her own mortal chain; the snow from outside was rapidly melting off his outer cloak in the snug heat of the room. He had a clear voice, precise and calm, and he was much more confident than she had been the first time she'd set foot in this office. Back then, it had seemed very grand and intimidating; now it was simply familiar. Unusually, rather than making a beeline for the secretary, he headed straight for her – a very puzzling occurrence indeed. Alses' mind raced: 'Have I ever ordered anything from this Keper Masute? More to the point, did we ever have anything sent here? Has there been a mix-up somewhere? Have we forgotten something?' All these thoughts and more flashed through her head in an instant, and her arms went out to receive the package almost on automatic. The genuflection was expected, but his next words were not; after a moment of silence she let out a rich and delighted ripple of laughter, catching out of the very corner of her eye Mr. Secretary's absolute astonishment; his monocle popped from its orbit and dangled on its ribbon, swinging dangerously close to the leaping flames. “Such manners, Dariel Masute – but we fear I'm not the one whose mercy can help you. We are but an apprentice at the Tower.” Alses tilted her head and gestured to the dapper man next to her. “Whilst we moonlight as a courier, I deal in exports, not imports. Your field, I think, sir?” |
by Dariel on December 18th, 2012, 11:02 pm
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by Alses on December 19th, 2012, 12:41 pm
“An honest mistake to make, wouldn't you agree?” Alses half-turned, enough to see both Dariel - book levelled and proffered - and the secretary whilst keeping as much of her body as possible close to the fire. A smile flashed fleetingly over the secretary's features before they schooled themselves to appropriately official blankness once more. “It wouldn't be the first time it's happened, no,” he agreed, after an appropriately magisterial pause. “Least said, soonest mended - but we'd take it as a service, young man, if you'd not make the mistake again.” Alses carefully took the book from Dariel's hands. It was a piece of art just as much as it was of literature, bound in darkly-intricate wood rather than the more usual leather and with amber embedded in a complex design across the front, depicting a sinking sun on the wane. Not entirely to her taste, perhaps, but fitting for the Dusk Tower nonetheless. “Mr. Secretary?” she proffered the package; his deft hands quickly took it, inspecting it. Carefully, almost reverentially – books were rare, after all – he opened it, flipping through a few pages before a satisfied 'Mmhm' signalled that his internal filing system had thrown up a card. “Ah, this'd be the new book your instructor-” he said, with a nod to Alses “-commissioned.” At this, Alses almost reflexively cast her eyes skyward. “Syna above, it'd better be perfectly to specification then. Our instructor has exacting standards,” she explained to Dariel. “Mr. Masute is, I'm sure, an excellent craftsman,” he replied, a touch reprovingly. “We have made use of his services before, and had no complaints.” His tone became slightly more lighthearted, but retained its formal diction. “Although...a prayer for luck before it goes under the discerning eye can never go amiss. Zintila bless this book, may it be appreciated.” He laid it carefully on his groaning desk, ready for later transport to the Family wing, and then seemed to change his mind. “I should probably see that to safekeeping,” he murmured, almost to himself, “And His Excellency will be waiting for the eightday report...” mind seemingly made up, the secretary turned. “Alses, allow young Master Masute to warm up before sending him on his way, would you? You might as well leave for the day too – what business as remains can wait until the weather clears.” With that, the secretary bowed to her, nodded briefly to Dariel and glided out of the room as though on rollers, carrying the precious book and a small stack of scrolls. The silence, broken only by the snap and crackle of logs in the fireplace, was very loud. “Poor fellow,” she said, with amusement still skipping through her words, and then became slightly more serious. “Now, do come and warm up by the fire...Dariel, wasn't it?” she urged. “It's a foul afternoon out there, after all.” She glanced at the window, more out of mortal habit than any real need to. “There are a few bells until dusk – not that you'd know it from looking outside.” She shivered, reflexively, turning slightly before the flames to expose as much of herself as possible to the heat, her fire-opal skin gleaming liquidly in the golden light. “To answer you; we're not in charge of anything. Mr. Secretary points me, and we go. Usually laden with message-boxes.” A wry smile. “He is the lynchpin on which this Tower turns. He commands the dedicated couriers, and Tower apprentices like myself who deliver messages, requests, orders, payments and presents to all who have business with the Tower or House Dusk, and he receives all communications in kind. He is the Tower's public face, if you will, its first line of defence.” A sudden grin. “The gates aren't usually closed, you see. A good man, from our limited experience, even if it does often seem as though he gets folded up in a cupboard somewhere when not manning this desk. He has always been kind to us, even more so after the djed storm in Spring.” She smiled at Dariel's next pronouncement. “As we've already discussed, it was an understandable error. No blame or insult attaches.” She paused, pensive. “I cannot speak for all, of course, but it's at once very easy and quite difficult to offend me. Blaspheme against Syna and we will merrily tear you to shreds. Aside from that...I know that in a few short decades you will be dust and bones and we will go on, unchanged and unchanging. What does an ocean care for a raindrop's ire? What does the sun care for a fire's spite?” She shook herself. “Forgive me; I have a tendency to...wander...during the day. Alses will do, by the way, not Mistress – we have too many titles already. Mortals seem to have this irrepressible urge to stick something in front of or after or sometimes even instead of my name.” |
by Dariel on December 21st, 2012, 10:07 am
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by Alses on December 22nd, 2012, 1:04 am
Alses didn't reply straight away, head resting on the marbled fireplace and eyes a million miles away, gazing unblinking into the white-hot heart of the blaze.“A sensible attitude,” she murmured after a chime or two, “Learning from mistakes. Everyone makes them, although some-” her eyes returned to immediate focus and flicked skywards “-are more loath to admit it than others. Myself included there, I grant you.” Her gaze turned again, almost magnetically drawn to the leaping flames. A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth at Dariel's flippant comment; it amused her inordinately, for some reason. “An interesting thought in principle, but nonetheless a poorly reasoned argument, to our mind. Each to their own interpretation of the world, of course, but we find fire endlessly fascinating, whether we need its presence and comfort or not. A beacon of warmth and light in the darkness, the mortals' emulation of Syna, in all Her moods. Of course, we can hardly be without bias.” She became pensive, thoughtful even, as Dariel mentioned his own incredulity at her relatively menial position. It was a complex answer, and so required some time for her to slot the appropriate reply together, a silver row of shining blocks inside her head, each one created by consensus with the multitudes. As was her wont, too, she'd begun to calm herself, drawing herself little by little into the preternatural state that was at the heart of auristic endeavours, still as a marble statue with only her mind racing and leaping. “Life is expensive, Master Masute.” In addressing Dariel, Alses had picked up on the secretary's formal address as the most appropriate to use, at least until informed differently. Her voice was soft and measured, a rippling cadence that was a fusion of the steadier Lhavitian pronunciation and the elongated, almost drawling versions of Common found amongst Zeltiva's glitterati. “I don't know if you've noticed that yet.” It wasn't said with any particular malice; Alses wasn't what one might call au courant with ages and frequently got them wrong; as far as she was concerned at this point, Dariel was a bookbinder's son sent out on an errand, nothing more. Indulging him to some extent cost her nothing, though, and indeed might curry some favour with his father, always a useful thing. It also meant, more crucially, that she could stay by the fire for longer before having to brave the elements. “You should understand that we don't eat or drink – save for out of extreme necessity – and yet still I require a myriad of things that were never a factor for me before. Clothing, shelter, the occasional treat to experience...you understand us, I'm sure. I fell back to this ball of mud with nothing beyond tattered memories and a language-” the words stuck in her throat for a moment “-a language I can't even pronounce any more. We had to relearn everything. To my knowledge, every Ethaefal suffers the same indignity.” She shrugged, a lifting of the shoulders that sent bright reflections dancing across the skyglass in front of her for a moment. “On balance, I suppose, we were extremely lucky; fishermen found me, and a fairly kind wizard took care of us. There are worse fates than a wizard's pet, and then later an apprentice. We would be there still, were it not for unfortunate mortality.” A slight shake of the head, a twisting of the light caught in her crown-of-horns, then she stilled. It was becoming easier and easier to attain that state of exalted calm; either that, or she didn't need to be quite so absolutely at peace and harmony with herself and the world in general. Dariel Masute possessed an unusually vibrant aura to her augmented senses, a shimmering and pulsing kaleidoscope of tumbling shade and chameleon hue extending some distance from his flesh even in her own rather rudimentary, passive sight. This was an intriguing development, now she had the peace and quiet to notice it, in an otherwise-unremarkable bookbinder's boy, and so bore examination. The trick and talent of it was to do so subtly and without attracting undue attention. An absent-minded, wandering Ethaefal was, however, perfect for that sort of thing - any inattention could so easily be waved off or explained away. The Dusk Tower's aura, the embodiment of generations of Dusks down the ages and all that they stood for, was an old friend, the first thing that her own personal artist unseen went to work on whenever she truly exercised her powers, his brush threaded with djed and cargoed with a million shades of purple. She could still only manage touch the very edges of that aura, seeing it as a wavering, shifting - although no longer insubstantial - melange of blue and purple that maddeningly defied precise and exacting definition, always just at the very edge of vision, blurring and slightly confusing everything else. She knew, thanks to experiments with glyphs (conducted far away from the disapproving eye of her teacher) that, with enough skill and enough djed, those mountainous blocks of colour, those ravines of saturation and coruscating, spiking rivers of deeper shade and hue would resolve themselves into ever-more intricate webworks that could speak to her on the very deepest of levels. There was conviction there, sunk into the very skyglass, along with pride, stability and safety, and the ubiquitous sense of blood, par for the course in any building so ancient. Perceiving any one of those imprinted feelings? virtues? standards? was difficult, but compensation for the aura itself was easy by now, purely by dint of long, long practice and immersion within its environs, the inversion of synchronicity serving to obliterate that particular aura from her sight, at least as long as she maintained her concentration. With that aura gone, banished from her perceptions, Dariel's particular signature sang out loud and clear – mostly bringing the sense of chilled, soaking feet to her own, which were completely dry and toasty warm. With the djed-driven synchrony between her perceptions and Dariel's aura, though, it was suddenly as though they'd been dipped in icy snowmelt – which probably wasn't far off the mark. She fought to keep her face from registering a wince, and hurriedly pulled away from the shining filigrees that were bringing her the disagreeable feeling, the proxy senses that rayed out from her body. “Once again, we drift from your question and our answer both.” She coughed, in a curiously academic sort of way, as though giving a lecture. Unconsciously, she was adopting the style of her instructor, relaying knowledge and reasoning in much the same manner. “To return: very little on Mizahar is free, we've found. The Dusk Tower requires its students to live close at hand; the Towers Respite, located equidistant from all the Towers and linked to each by private bridges. We believe tuition for each apprentice is paid out of the residency bills there, although I took the job as a courier at first to simply find my way around Lhavit rather than pay our way; it was a confusing place to me back then.” She grinned, voice slipping from its more formal speech. “We now know all the hidden ways around the city; the underbridges, the shortcuts and forgotten streets, how to get from one side of Surya Plaza to the other on a festival day without being seen by anyone...Valuable, when you-” she bit down, hard, on the mention of her mortal chain. A bookbinder's boy didn't need to know of such things; no-one did. “-when you don't wish to be the centre of attention. We spend considerable time talking to apprentices and journeymen whilst their masters deliberate over a reply to a Dusk Tower missive, too. The apprentices of today will become the masters of tomorrow, and having a good acquaintance with them will only help us in the future.” She gave him an apologetic smile. “We think in the long-term, you see. Couriering gives us some coin to pay for life's little necessities, but the main asset it brings us is connections. Thanks to our ferrying messages all across Lhavit, we are known, now, all through the city. We can walk through the Azure Market and know almost every trader's face and name, for example. 'Putting down roots' is the expression, I believe.” Her voice became much less serious, and that golden note of wry amusement skipped through her words once more. “As I said, we don't do it for the money, which really is a pittance. Indeed, I rely on my skills at magecraft – that makes us highly valuable, and is probably at least part of the reason we were accepted here.” Her eyes blazed with something more than reflected firelight as she continued, expressing her passion for the magic she was currently denied. “Provide me with a laboratory and some ingredients – and time, of course - and I can make wonders to last the ages and delight even the most jaded of men.” A sigh. “Of course, artifacts and the means to craft them are expensive. We executed a commission for His Excellency the Patriarch in Autumn, though, and a handsome payment for our labours will be forthcoming soon enough. Perhaps even enough for our own facility. It's very much the harder road to wealth and fame in Lhavit; there are those, as we've been told on many occasions, who would pay hundreds, if not thousands of kina to experience a day with us.” She sniffed, disdainful. “I understand it's the oldest mortal profession, but it's not one that holds any attraction for me – although I seem to hold a considerable amount of attraction for it. Madame Belladonna – mistress in all senses of the word of the Red Lantern – has spoken to me about this several times. In any case, quite besides my own personal preferences for menial work over opening my thighs – forgive the vulgarity - I'm sure that at least one of the Tower's Powers that Be considers menial work to be character-building for a wizard. My instructor certainly considers it a useful tool of humility.” It doesn't work, was the unspoken rider, clear as day. “I prefer to think of it all – couriering, gardening and so forth - as developing a foundation of rock on which to build my castles in the air. Too many wizards down the ages lost their grip on normal reality and its rules and ended up turned themselves into drooling abominations. We certainly don't intend for that to happen to us. Mind you,” she added, in the spirit of fairness “I doubt they intended to become that sort of thing either.” She smiled at Dariel's attempt at comparison between his own wandering and hers. There was probably quite a bit of overlap, in reality, but it was generally best for her to establish the white lie, the half-truth, as the whole of it early on. It saved bother down the line. “I think our two causes of wandering are somewhat different,” she demurred politely. “I shan't comment on your own, but Ethaefal have the blessing and burden of all our past lives clamouring in our heads – and I know myself to be a very old soul. My chorus and choir is...quite deafening, when it wants to be. Memory can strike us at any moment, and often does, some event or happening that was significant for our...” she cast around for the right word, and eventually plumped for: “...development. Perhaps the most obvious result is the difficulty with the personal pronoun.” Actively focusing on her speech now, the mashup of pronouns smoothed out into the correct form, rather than randomly switching. “I don't feel like any one person at all for much of the time; I'm a compound creature of a thousand lives, all stitched together. 'I' just doesn't sit well, much to m'lady's annoyance.” That was one of the few things she had no control at all over, and it drove her to distraction on occasion. “As for what sort of magus we would class ourself as...An Aurist?” Alses echoed. “In truth we would rather prefer to be known as a magesmith if we must be specific, but yes, we have some talent in auristics. The two complement one another quite well, and whatever else I might say about the Dusks' methods, they're effective, at least.” She tipped her head sideways to regard Dariel, the leaping firelight glittering in her eyes. “I must ask, if you are indeed a wizard, which side of the Debate do you favour? The purist school of thought, or the generalist? It's something often bandied about the Tower; a fresh perspective would be interesting. We presume you'll be applying to the Tower soon enough?” A mischievous chuckle. “Don't worry about my skills - as a fellow aurist; your secrets are reasonably safe - so long as I see no advantage in exploiting them, anyway.” She paused, mostly for effect if she was honest with herself. “Pour the water in your boots over one of the pot-plants, would you? Then give them to me. The greenery can make better use of the liquid than you, the grumbling in your mind is giving me a headache and cold feet are never pleasant – or healthy.” |
by Dariel on December 28th, 2012, 10:11 pm
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by Alses on December 30th, 2012, 3:03 am
Alses chuckled gently, eyes not leaving Dariel's face. The sight of it, gilded with firelight, acted as a ground, keeping her anchored. For the moment. “I know the feeling. Dariel it is, then. Pleasure to make your acquaintance, we're sure.” Her eyes were bright with thought as she considered Dariel's words. “An interesting point well made,” she murmured, turning the shape of it over and over in her head. “Now that you've made the observation...we have seen shoppers in the Azure Market suddenly stop and dart across the street to make a purchase, as though possessed by some great and unstoppable urge to buy whatever it was that caught their attention. Examples of your chorus dominance theory in action, perhaps, one part of the...the human committee – would that be a good expression? shouting down the others, at least for a little while. We hadn't thought of it in those terms before; something worth further study, I think, when I have the leisure to conduct such a project, at least.” Gracefully, she dropped into a chair, its plush upholstery warmed by the fire. Comfort wasn't exactly everywhere in evidence in the Dusk Tower, but when it did put in an appearance, it was at least unstinting. Whomsoever the Tower had procured its fireside armchairs from – and there were lots of them throughout the place – had been a master of their trade. “I am glad to hear the voice of reason coming from another mouth,” she murmured. “Though that's not to say we are the only reasonable people in the Tower. Likening the disciplines of magic to limbs is a good metaphor, I think. I like it. We shall use that the next time it's debated with our instructor.” A smile, as though an amusing thought had just come to her. “The Eypharians regard themselves as superior for – oh, too many reasons to list – and they pity us for only being able to do half as much with our hands as they. Thus compare the intelligent generalist and the specialist.” Mischief glittered in her eyes for a moment. “Of course, the response would probably be 'intelligent.' Still, no matter; it provides a springboard for further debate, at least.” She raised a finger. “We would add a caveat to your argument concerning focus, though, for the longer-lived races, you understand; the Konti, the Nuit and so on. An abundance of time, spent productively, surely breeds breadth as well as depth of knowledge. I shouldn't like to call a Nuit archmage lacking in focus or will – nor, I suspect, would you.” Her grin was lopsided, sharply sardonic, before her features smoothed to pensive consideration once more. “Personally we try not to group magic, in point of fact. The intelligent wizard can find synergies everywhere, after all. I haven't tested it yet, but I do have to wonder whether every discipline of magic can work beneficially with every other.” Alses sighed, heavily. “This is the main part of our...issue...with my instructor, in truth. The teaching mage, you see, often considers that practice should be pure and perfect, unsullied by any discipline other than the one under improvement. I disagree – for instance, we hold the view that sometimes – although not always, we readily admit – knowing the answer is a great aid in working out the whys and wherefores of a question. If you'll indulge us – we so rarely get to air our opinion – I shall explain further.” She grinned, suddenly. “Really, we should do this in the Basilika, but it's snowing foully outside, it's freezing to boot and I'm currently enjoying the warmth of a blazing hearth far too much to want to move. So, operating on the assumption that you're a sane human being and think the same way...Let us consider, for the sake of argument, a rock such as you might pick off any mountainside in Kalea. It's not a shiny gem or a mineral-bearing ore of great value, just a lump of black stone. Your task is to find out everything possible about that rock, and in so doing, increase the scope of your understanding of auristics. All very fine and good and commendable; an excellent practical lesson, but for one thing, to my mind. You've experienced shadows and ghosts, I take it? False readings, voids, impressions in an aura that aren't actually there, that sort of thing? We saw them all the time when we first started to practice, the physical manifestation of an imperfect synchronisation, among other things. How do you tell the true impression from the false, especially with a completely new aura?” She leaned back in her appropriated chair, well into the meat of her explanation now. Bookbinder's son or no, Dariel was apparently intelligent, given his quick responses to her abstract meandering and a wizard too – that made him a good arguing partner, if nothing else. “You're aware of Glyphing, I take it? The art of using runic inscriptions to achieve all sorts of effects that would normally be impossible? Invaluable support discipline. Paint the correct runes in the correct places, and you can bolster your skills considerably, without any extra djed drain. Going back to our rock example – assuming it's volcanic, since most of the rocks around here are - if you looked at it whilst augmented with sufficient skill, even a novice aurist would be able to see the ghost of heat at its very heart, the impression of when it was very first formed. You'd be able to see the pressure lines, faulting and breaking and shearing in the aura, the true shape of its auristic signature laid bare before you. Then take away the glyphs, and you at least have something to aim for, rather than just...shooting in the dark." Once again, her eyes were bright, intense with the desire to convince and with the enjoyment of their developing conversation. "With that experience in hand, you know that if you align your auristic talent just so, if you burn enough djed and synchronise yourself deeply enough, that squiggle will resolve itself into a touch of fire on your skin, that fuzzy patch over there is a complex tangle of pressure lines where the rock was nearly snapped in two as it was forming, and that odd bit you've been focusing on for the last five bells is just a ghost, an interaction from a stray bit of djed your mind's picked up on. Knowing the answer – what the aura should look like – is invaluable for knowing if you're going in the right direction, practice-wise. Personally, we think it's making intelligent use of the resources at our disposal – my instructor, however, sees Glyphing as a crutch.” She grinned. “And you're very much hearing my side of a very old argument that's been burning away merrily between us for a long time. As you point out, too, the world simply isn't sensible, much to its detriment.” Her eyes tracked his figure as he left the circle of firelight and splashed towards one of the pot plants the secretary kept around the place. There was a little mischievous thrill deep inside; hadn't that been gratifying, seeing his expression when she'd casually sent him to empty his boots? A simple skimming of his aura, just the edges of it, with her talent acting as a proxy for her senses...she was beginning to understand why so many of the more accomplished aurists generally wore an expression of gentle, absent-minded condescension; whilst she wasn't so sure of her ability to skim abstract concepts, feelings, emotions, those better-versed in the intricacies of the art seemed to regard it as natural and as easy as breathing. Having to wait whilst someone stumbled through inefficient verbal communication must be so...cumbersome, when so much of what was pertinent could be read – or inferred – from an aura in a far shorter time. Dariel's next words brought an involuntary chuckle to her lips – he had to have known exactly what she meant, and turning it into a joke – even if it was a fairly weak one – lightened the atmosphere a little, letting her relax. “The boots, Dariel,” she replied, amusement evident in her voice. “Socks, too, now that I come to think of it. They'll be wet through too, no?” |
by Elysium on February 7th, 2013, 2:07 am
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