Dipping The Quill - A Beginning

[Clarion Voss]

Timestamp: 1rst of Summer, 509 AV

The city warmed the cool night. It spoke in an ancient civilized tongue who's accent pulled well into modern dialect. The cataclysm caved over into the scars of streets and fresh layers of renewed inspiration here in Zeltiva. Brick by brick. Word by word..

An old man coughed under willowy branches as the pool of water below reflected his nature and that of the moon. Sacred to some, it's surface danced amidst the jetsam of leaves and sparkling coins fallen under a fountain of dreams. The Old Quarter had migrated here; four streets intersecting between University property that brought it's people together into a marketplace of evocative memories. From the sullen poise of the stone statues hung the green grime of lime and tepid moisture. It's water left him lifted in the scent of musky humidity, yet few bothered an elder wrapped and cloaked in a soft toga, bearing a tall oak staff. Ripples triggered the imagery again, the scar fresh in his mind like an open wound. Something was buried here.. something deep.
With care Clarion Voss removed a single scarlet kernel from the pomegranate he was eating, pausing to run it between two calloused fingertips before consuming the piece whole. Like all crossroads, this one gloated choice; a decision that he would have to arrive at.
The shadows still felt forgotten in Zeltiva like some influx of timeless, sleeping danger; a dried mystery that flaked and peeled from the surface of skin and mortar. He himself was noted as a student now. A teacher to some.. A presence found daily beneath the pillar of Scholars.
The next kernel squashed between the clean nails of his right hand, leaving a purple stain filtering through the lines of pale pigment. A trinket dangled from the scholar's neck and a door shut far behind, echoing with the trail of birds.
Why was he here? He was following a vision in the funeral wake for a college, waiting for fate to hit him, slap Voss hard across the face. He was following someone else's fate.

Sitting amidst the laughter of a festival ripe with fruit, wine, intellect and the glow of youth chased by their elders the human shifted his weight. The strange memory tattooed this place over the causeway of his features. It was an image.. nothing more. An emotion. A loss between a gain, something distinct even in odor and allure.
A bronze cup suddenly bounced from a second story window over ten stone steps, leaving the cobbles as drenched as Clarion's fingers. The regent. He was waiting for her. A touch and fall to flowers.. so mired the mage could not see the past from future's breathe coiling down his spine. A lover and a book. A chance to peel back the cracks between these streets and stare naked into the damage that still ingested the foundations of his history. The city would not heal till he removed it's thorns. Clarion could find no peace, nor reprieve till the tension betrayed it's dimension.
Yet plucking at old wounds had a vicious habit of reopening their gates. The fruit tasted sour bathed in a sweet languishing glow.

[Liminal]

It was a quiet summer night, and the square was uncrowded. There were a few students hurrying home from late classes, but that was essentially it. The Old Quarter was occupied mostly by the University and a few stately homes of ancient families, and so the evening was usually peaceful here.

There were footsteps behind Clarion, slow and measured. If he were to turn, he would see an elderly woman cutting across the plaza. She was obviously associated with the University, but as an administrator, not a student like the other scattered figures. She wore the deep blue cloak that marked her as one of the University's Regents, and had a certain air of authority that befitted that station.

"Evening, Clarion." It was a distinctly gravelly voice, one that was instantly recognizable as belonging to Jacquelyn Silver, the most senior member of the Regents. "You seem thoughtful."

It was not phrased or inflected as a question, but nonetheless, there was a sense of inquiry present. Jacquelyn had stopped walking now, and was looking into the pool where Clarion's attention had so recently been directed.

[Clarion Voss]

Hearing the woman's approach brought a sliver of emotion to his bearded features that became cloaked by the night velvet sky. Clarion's eyes watched two moths ducking candle light but as Jacquelyn neared with the sway of fabric a silence responded. His voice finally broke, evenly calling like a knife but not to kill. The brogue of his ancient tongue danced along the shoulders of a rapturous ritual, if not slightly playful for all it's callous serenity.

"My Lady. I would be less thoughtful to the passing of celestial bodies had I your perfect form to fix constellations upon a watchstone earlier."

Voss blinked softly, arching his kneck to expose the line of his profile to the pull of the light. Flames pierced deeply into the catch of his pupils, holding their contact like drawn hooks.
Impassively, with the theatrics of opposition the mortal feinted disdain where he desired intimacy.. While either through impatience or calculation squashed his willpower towards the lining light, intending to increase the wide size of the candle to engulf it's engaged would be butterflies. Had he been waiting long?

"Now." The eye contact broke and returned.. "Come sit near this old flame, but dare I say as a moth." The blue twinkled. If he had an agenda it was submerged in calm affections.

[Liminal]

Jacquelyn smiled. "You do me too much kindness, Clarion. To hear you talk, you would think I was forty years younger." She adjusted her cloak and sat on the grass next to him.

"Don't tell me you're sitting here this late just to watch the moths." She was still playful, but there was a seriousness underlying it. "I trust your interests expand beyond the domain of the insects."

After that, she fell silent. Jacquelyn's success was largely predicated on her ability to listen, and to be patient as others developed their thoughts. She was content to sit as long as needed until the old man shared whatever he wanted to share with her.

[Clarion Voss]

Jacquelyn was absolutely correct. The whirling density of djed flooded his mind, pulsing like a diamond plated into the crown of bone. Closing both eyelids the mage's sockets awoke to expel this energy, as if breathing in the collision of matter and releasing res like smoke through a vein. The ancient sank from his cool stone fountain towards the ground below, leaning close enough to the regent on a blanket of grass. Words hit Clarion's skull yet grinded against his teeth.. carving thoughts into a smooth ivory that would pass into the vibration of laughter and somber toil.

Voss's jaw turned a corner to meet the angle of the woman's question, loosening a smile that became curled into further playful delay. "Now I can see a woman worth appreciating. Should I use the breath I hold to run with candor, dashing thus moment into musings when it can become a gift use'ed for far better, far greater things. Your lips for example." His palm brushed over Jacquelyn's unquenchable skin.
The moment seemed to hold it's own weight lifted on clouds. There was a careen of silence.

"My interests..."

The saunter of his gaze turned to the candle as did the tone of his voice.

"Tell me then of the City. It's history. What lifts and what hinders it. Architecturally. Magically. A fact. A legend. A story.. Something of Galleon's death does not stay down.. " Clarion's irises focused in raw honesty that made his body almost pull away. The beginning of the next sentence resonated harsher then intended. "A trigger perhaps. Involving my past. Somehow. I've been here before.. " A fragility then quivered over Voss's tongue. "Before this time. Before Zeltiva was made new, washed in stone. Whoever I was then made a choice. An action that became not only a curse to this city but still calls to my soul like weather to bones." The severity of his gaze cut across the regent's features.

"I want answers Jacquelyn." His hand gripped hers calmly but firm.

[Liminal]

Jacquelyn sat silently for a moment, even though Clarion was obviously serious about what he was asking. Fireflies winked above the water's surface. The square was nearly empty by now, and the silence floated over the pair like a gray cloud.

"Zeltiva has a long past." Her eyes met his, matching the seriousness in them. "The first harbor of the Alahean Imperial Navy, pride of the ocean and jewel of the Royal lands. The finest shipbuilders, the finest sailors, and the finest scholars all lived here. It was then as it is now, but more so -- even the works of our finest craftspeople and intellectuals pale before the awesome power of those who walked then."

"Then, of course, the Valterrian, and the city was destroyed. Or almost destroyed. The Old Quarter, of course, survived, a few blocks of civic buildings and expensive city homes. Since then, all has been rebuilding. We have been more successful than most -- only Syliras has recovered anything like as much of the old glories as Zeltiva. But the past casts long shadows, Clarion, and none of us are quick enough to outrun them."

The woman paused for a moment. The light was low enough now that her face was half-hidden in the shadows. "Alahea had power the likes of which the world now has not seen. It was not always used for good. They say that the wizards could raise the dead, command the oceans, control the sun and the stars. But they could not control themselves, and therein lies the tragedy, a tragedy that echoes across the city even now, though few people hear it."

She turned her gaze toward Clarion. "There were many whose choices have cursed us, my friend. But if I can help you find what you are looking for, I will."

[Clarion Voss]

Clarion nodded, listening to the regent speak as he draped the toga back upon his shoulders.

"Of all these homes and civic property, what of the tunnels that lie beneath them."

He stood, intending to casually pull the woman to her feet then let go. The mage took a single step then turned, his mind whirling. "A tower. A Battle. I'd like to know the events that transpired here during the cataclysm. Sagallius took power from the gods, quietly at first.. the other magi were no different in zeal." Voss stroked his chin, wrapping his right arm beneath the garment.
"Taking dominion over relics of great power and binding that force. Some say the city's water springs ill.. others cry of horrific creatures that must be put to the sword. A violent taint lingers, or the conjecture of the mind would make it appear so. Never the less, finding the origin and the spokes. The central hub of the city would be a starting place. The primary water source as well. A tower or a cave." Voss's brow furrowed slightly. "I 'ad like to compare the ancient scrolls. Maps of Zeltiva before the sundering and now... see if my reckless mind could make sense out of it's connection. Find the cause."

His voice stopped and the old man rolled a palm against the staff. "A high ground - an altar to the gods, a place to channel deep magic. Either that or hunt 'n blight worth chasing and dig into the oldest foundation."

[Liminal]

Jacquelyn said nothing until Clarion was finished, though she stood along with him. She pulled her cloak a bit closer around her.

"Ah, the cataclysm." She was almost whispering, though for no apparent reason. "So few -- perhaps none -- know what really happened that day. The Zatoskas blunted some of the worst of the destruction, but even so, nearly the entire city was erased, just as surely as if it had never been here at all. What remains is here, in the Old Quarter."

She breathed in uncertainly. "Have you been to the Falconer's Tower, Clarion? They say it was the tallest building in Zeltiva before the Valterrian. It was partially destroyed, but it's still a good hundred and fifty or so feet high. It's attached to the Falconer's Mansion, of course, and the Falconers don't much care to open their property to the public. But perhaps that is a place of beginning for you. Tunnels, caves -- they were here, yes, but the locations are unclear even on the best maps that remain. But the tower -- that's a place to begin."

The woman sighed. "I don't know what you seek exactly, my friend. But if I were searching for whatever still troubles you, that is where I would direct my efforts."

[Clarion Voss]

The bearded male looked up at the words - Falconer's Tower. He saw the trunk of the rising spire slip through the smoke of torch wood, a warm glow receding into the cusp of a night sky. It could be the spot.
Returning his gaze with a slow arch of the neck, the man pursed his lips.

"So be it. M'lady, it was good of you to come. I will leave you to tomorrow's responsibilities. Should you need assistance home, consider it my duty but know that my final intention is to visit the Falconers at all hours of the night."

The water in the well looked almost ethereal at night, trailing a mirror's reflection back at the stars. Voss ran his molars together, stretching his free arm.

"Leave it up to the stubborn side of me, to climb towers as an old man.." He smiled, which didn't look beneath him for all his character and age. "Shall I pander the night off to wine and a good spell, well rested for the body that waits me. Nah. Not too old for a little bit more."

Deeper thoughts echoed as would a vast chamber. Images of a cataclysmic burst of energy, erupting above the city's horizon. Wings and Magic. What better combination.
Shivering, Clarion knew not what would be the night's end, only that it's destiny was spun like a spider's web, from all corners of the map.. as if Lhex himself wound the net infinitely tight within his fist; thousands of fates bound to one singular intention. The cord cut.. silencing a harmony of life force that could not run forever against the Jackal's call. But it was only stone now.

"The closer I get to the prize, more vivid the colors. Were the Ethaefal so damned to have their history soak through their ankles." His features wrinkled. "Fall from the heavens like the gods own courier, but left to retrieve the message ourselves. As if they truly believe I choose my loyalties when my body by essence is worship to one."

"I am not damned by history." The image of a benshira mage rolled by his eyes. "But it follows me here regardless. These bones don't lie.."
"If I could be honest to one, it would be you Jacquelyn. I think the Puppeteer would drive me mad for the same lust that killed my body so many years ago. Eyris and Syna both are patient .. but this night. Who would end it. Me or the immortal?" His left eyebrow raised with a dull turn of the shoulder. "We shall inevitably see. Let me touch the Ukalas."

He tossed the husk of purple fruit into the water's basin, watching it's body float over the surface as if to mock and amuse the man both at the same time. "Let's walk, only so much of my own voice that I can tolerate.. the rest I leave to my tub and my lamp." The final sentence broke the chapter like a red silken book mark. "Lets move this night, before something moves us."

[Liminal]

Again, Jacquelyn was silent until Clarion had finished speaking completely. She had been on her way home, and her days were long and wearying. But nonetheless, she smiled gently when her turn in the conversation came.

"Some say all of us are damned by history," she said with a shrug. "But we all must keep walking anyway." The old woman pulled her cloak more tightly around her wispy frame. "Come. Let's go."

She led, not knowing if Clarion was sure of the location she had described. They took a narrow alleyway that led onto a straight, well-traveled road. In most cities, this would have been an invitation for a mugging, but Zeltiva was not most cities. It was, apart from perhaps Syliras, the most civilized place left in Mizahar -- and its prisons were legendary. Crime, at least the common kinds, was very low here, and especially in the Old Quarter.

The road narrowed, and trees appeared on either side. The Old Quarter was not large -- no more than six square blocks -- and they were nearing the end. They had passed all the University buildings and the few commercial establishments, and were now in strictly residential territory.

On the left, only a couple houses before the end of the street, a massive granite manor house rose before them. It was built in the old style, and surrounded by a wrought iron fence fifteen feet high. A sentry stood outside the gate, dressed in a servant's livery. The sign on the gate read simply Joseph Falconer, &c.

Behind the manor, partially hidden by the trees, stood the tower itself, a pile of stonework of truly impressive craftsmanship. Was this the place where the answer lay? There was only one way to find out...