Elias grimaced and hastily stepped to the side as Venser's gaze fell on the table the young mage stood against. The glint of the true sight was evident upon his blue eyes, something Elias could clearly note not because of some magical intuition or sense for these kinds of innate details, but because with his own auristics still fully enveloping his own brown hues, he had watched in silence as djed began building and eventually stabilizing behind the man's studious gaze. What he also noticed however, was the unmistakable strain Rush was displaying as his employment of the arcane art dragged on for more than a few ticks too long. It was a burden Elias himself was all too familiar with. Though he could tell by the subtle way the blonde man struggled with his djed that he was likely better practiced in some regard, the Ravokian himself was far from a master. More often that not his attempts at implementing auristics would end with vague, hollow interpretations of the inner workings of a thing and its aura that left him more teary eyed and frustrated than anything else. Of all the talents the ravokian mage had acquired during his days in Zeltiva, it was surely the reading of auras that irritated and tormented him the most. The strain of its use was just so immediate and inescapably poignant that it was difficult to truly embrace the talent as much as he earnestly wanted to. He thought he understood why that was however; as the eyes were not just a window, but instead an actual conduit for the magic's power to intertwine and envelope, it put a very tangible stress on the human body that other magics like say, reimancy which worked solely with manipulated djed
outside the astral body, did not.
He let the magic fade just in time to witness the finer details of Rush's awe struck amazement at the sight of -what Elias had to assume- were the deeper depths of not only the table;s galvanized djed network, but also magecrafting's pure intrinsic brilliance as well. That was when Lazarin decided to whirl his wicked fury back unto the new mage, letting loose a flurry of insight and insults that caught the Caldera off guard and totally shocked. Usually Lazarin found it more prudent and apparently satisfying to be a tad bit less... abrasive when he was verbally decimating one of his wards. It seemed however, the very notion of a Sylirian from the hated south did away the with wizards familiar, dreadful tact and replaced with some less cunning and more painfully crude. Despite his startled reaction at the professor's cutting remarks, there was still one tiny detail in there that had Elias smirking in smug satisfaction. He could hardly resist helping himself once Rush had the gall to not only admit it, but also attempt and give the silly thing a shred of credibility by calling it by its old and ancient name. "
A legate?" He chuckled, unable to keep the venomous mirth from tinging his tone. "
I'm surprised they even let you in here, body snatcher. You can call it whatever you wish, a legate is still the poor man's magesmith, and malediction the idiot cousin of a true and vastly superior world magic." Shaking his head at the easily dislikable grave robber, Elias could admit that yes, he didn't know the intricacies of malediction like he did most other arts, but he knew enough as a magecrafter to none thes less pity those poor fools who thought it an actual talent to be compared to others in the world of the djed. Legates might have considered themselves mysterious and darkly arcane, but in reality what they were was just vile, usually dirty hermits, and had no real ability with magic, so instead masked their ineptitude with a shrouded veil of mysticism too thick for most mundane people to see the ineptitude beneath, and too thin to hide their pungent stink of graceless disappointment from any real mage worth his salt.
An air of distaste had also settled heavily upon the prideful use of the ancient language as well. Elias knew it well enough, but he knew legacy and heritage in particular meant more to him than it ever would to Rush, irking the younger man as he was forced to endure having it thrown in his face by a stranger. With a murdered sylirian of all things for a father, what did this man, this voodoo witch, have that Elias, son of the Caldera bloodline and marked by Viratas, possibly have that could even remotely match. The answer was nothing the Ravokian true born cared to hear. He had rarely ever had need to feel so up and mighty about his blood's purity before, but when it came to the nemesis behind their walls -and Rush distinctly, who Elias was growing more and more contemptuous of regardless of how little he truly knew- it just felt unreasonable not to. Rhysol's chosen people had to stay judicious in their unwavering despisal some way, right? It wasn't as if the two cities were constantly at each other's throat long enough for anyone to really get a good grip on hating the other properly anyway. The occasional half blood here and there was good practice for the real thing at the very least.
As for the paladin, he seemed thoroughly content to enjoy the little dispute he had initiated, and looked perfectly happy with letting his two students have at each other's egotistical throats. Something Elias was completely grateful for in all honesty, because it meant the man wasn't as inclined to speak about the Caldera's own less than boastful family issues like he had Rush's. He wasn't sure how much the magical son of the major family had discovered about him and his mother, but he was certain the bastard had done the diligent thing and dug as deep as his rank and imposing nature would allow. A part of Elias hoped the Black Sun would be too scrupulous and jealously greedy with their own secrets that such shaming details would never surface for the likes of him. It was probably asking for too much...
Instead, the young mage would contend himself with the competition of words the other, more paltry mage would surely try and raise in defense. Rushed just gave off a feeling of too much bold defiance to do anything less. Tolerable enough, as Elias would welcome reveling in an opportunity to bash malediction like the unwanted step child that it was for a few while he waited for the wizard watching over them to forget all about anything he might have currently swirling around in his dark thoughts that concerned the fallen apprentice specifically. Unfortunately, it wasn't more than tick after Venser's rebuttal, or lack thereof, that two men stumbled into the room from outside, a giant wooden mirror strewn ungraciously between them as they struggled with its sheer weight. The young man cocked a questioning eyebrow at the delivery as it was oh so carefully lowered to the laboratory floor per Lazarin's incessant cursing and threats of death should any fool so much as dent its lacquered woodwork. Sweating and terrified, the two laborers were immediately shooed from the room like a pair of hens who had stumbled out of their pen.
The thing was big, nearly as tall as the three diverse men whose reflection it now cast back at them. Its mahogany framework was also impressive and worthy of note he found, a clear display of intimate craftsmanship upon every inch and seam that might have been more appealing had he any taste for such artistry. Regardless of how it fancied him, Elias recognized it immediately of course, as an aurist's mirror, a tool that had only just recently been explained as part of the arsenal all magesmith's wielded during their hallowed work. Perhaps more gaudy than he was used to, with its detailed and intricate patterns of swirling designs that spiraled up and out from the base all the way to the top and down again, but what else could the mirror be in a place like this one?
The mage turned to the professor then, watching as the older man nodded in approval while inspecting every nook and cranny his dark eyes could scour. After a moment of anxious silence and uncertainty, he finally straightened.
"Good, now we can begin."
So...I just had the greatest idea! Elias and Venser should do a rap battle completely in the nader-canoch!
