Clyde was confused to say the least. One moment his weapon had been being handed over to the soldier before him. And now shortly after the man was... Dead.
He wasn't quite clear on what had happened, as events had progressed quickly out of control once they did begin progressing.
His warning had been clear, be careful. At first everything seemed fine as the soldier took the mace, feeling it and getting a measure of it and its weight before doing anything. Then he took a few steps over in front of the dummy, making a single one handed swing of the mace as if it was any other mace. The moment Clyde saw him doing a normal full swing of the mace for his first strike Clyde knew things wouldn't end well.
Watching the man's face it quickly moved from one of concentration, and then fear and confusion as the mace smashed right through the dummy and kept going to collide with the floor. Bits of cloth and leather and wood splintered across the room with a patter as the dummy detonated from the strike. Because he had chosen a downward swing of the mace he was forced to lean over with it, yanked along by its strike.
Later Clyde couldn't help thinking that if he'd tried a sideways or horizontal swing he'd have been carried in that direction, perhaps into a spin, and would have been fine.
Instead he'd tried a downward strike, and as the mace quickly moved to meet the ground his arm moved faster than his torso bent. His feet and hips had been locked into place, not fluid and able to move along with the mace's momentum, and so by the time the mace stopped on the ground, as much as it did in its attempt to go right through the floor and foundation to get to the lake below, his arm was nearly out of the socket and a rictus of pain was across his face.
As the mace struck the ground it smashed into it, not bouncing off but crushing and breaking through it at least a foot deep if not deeper, finally losing momentum from the single swing and coming to a stop as the soldier pulled back on it. Something done far too late. Even from the distance at which Clyde stood he could feel the thump vibrated up from the ground and into his legs as the mace struck.
Outward from the broken ground that had once been the training floor radiated several deep cracks, one snaking outward near the door and causing a bit of it to fall sideways and making it difficult to open.
Once the mace finally stopped the mans pain increased and his one functioning arm spasmed, clutching for a moment at the front of his training shirt as his body tensed. A moment later he was lying across the ground, dead, the mace still clutched there.
Lazarin simply stood staring, dumbfounded, his eyes turning from the mace still resting in the dead soldiers hand, and then to Clyde. Meeting his old teachers gaze Clyde wasn't sure if he'd ever seen so much emotion on his face besides anger. Fear seemed to be the prominent one now. However the fear seemed more pointed at Clyde than the weapon he'd created. The device of death, for the foe perhaps if used correctly but for the wielder if not. Fear perhaps at what his once fresh student was now capable of, perhaps having surpassed the limits of his old mentor.
The weapon, for all its action, sat untouched. It looked as fresh and undamaged as the day it had been made, the day Clyde had received it and begun the enchantment upon it. It looked more like it had been taken off a nice clean pedestal and set into the hole and placed within the dead mans hand, more so than it looked like it had just done the damage before them.
The woman from before fled, ordering Clyde to clean up the mess without saying much of anything.
It was then as she struggled with the door in leaving that Clyde noticed the cracks radiating outward from the impact point, as if something from the sky had fallen and crashed with force into the floor of the room.
Clyde fought the urge to smile at seeing the destruction and Chaos that his weapon had brought with such a simple motion. He didn't concern himself over the dead fool who'd not heeded his instructions. Instead his focus was on the weapon, the fear on Lazarin's face pointed at him, and at the next attempt to use the mace. If they tried a horizontal swing next, and kept them self fluid and moved with the mace, letting it take them instead of trying to stand still as a pillar as this one had, then surely it would go better next time...
Mechanically he moved over to the man, pushing and pulling at his grip until his dead fingers uncurled and released the mace. With far more caution than the man had exhibited he carefully pulled it out of the ground, sliding it along bits and places instead of trying to force it out by muscle and brawn. Using his mind to find the correct route that didn't let the mace pick up momentum.
As he picked up the mace and looked about, he met Lazarin's gaze for a moment. The man's face had once more grown serious, blank, the fear once more cloaked under Lazarin.
“I once taught you of Tallshade... She made things. Wonderful things. Terrible things. Powerful things. Things she regretted making. I can't help think what things you will make that you will come to regret. Or if this will be included in those... Why... Why did you make this?”
Clyde simply stared back at the man, his once teacher, confused at his question. Confused at his statement. Confused at why he could regret having made such a wondrous thing of destruction and Chaos.
“Why did I make it? To prove a theory. And to see if I could. What other reasons do I need? Theory proven. Concept made. Proof of capability made.”
Lazarin stared at Clyde, and simply walked out without saying another word.
By then a few people had arrived at the door, too late to see the action or to hear the exchange of words between the two Magecrafters, but early enough to see the spectacle.
Before he had a chance to do much more Kelsie returned to Clyde. By the time she strode across the room several more people had arrived, and by the time she left quite a few more had, multiplying exponentially almost.
Clyde heard her order, to take the mace and the paper she handed him and to report to Silvas. He also heard the act, the sense of displeasure. It was all Clyde could do to keep from raging, from picking up the mace and showing her what it could do, from explaining it to her until she understood its wonder and the Chaos it made.
It was clear though that she didn't care, couldn't see. She wasn't a mage. She saw things with her non-mage eyes. She was simply angry, and a fool. Clyde held back his rage, something he'd had ample practice at over the years. Though he knew that with a flick of his will he could kill every one of them. The stray thought seemed to calm him, adding to the fact that he knew he was in true control no matter what the woman said or played at.
He'd done what she'd asked, he'd warned the soldier and her and everyone, and they hadn't heeded his words. Because of that, things had gone badly. And now she was displeased. But then, was she really going to be honest and act displeased at herself? Clyde could see the logic in her thoughts, and striking outward with her displeasure at Clyde, and could see the foolish logic of it.
Report immediately. Then. Now. And then she was gone.
As he headed out of the room, heading to Silvas, he overheard tossed words. Theories, ideas, rumors spreading among the people newly arrived who hadn't seen anything.
He had somewhere to go, and so he walked, not slowing or stopping in his measured walk towards his destination. But that didn't stop him from talking as he walked.
“The fool has no one to blame but himself for being dead, he killed himself. He didn't listen and used a magic weapon as if it was a normal one, and ended up dead from using it. Word to the wise, if a mage tells you to be careful with something, something made of magic, then PETCHING do it! Fools don't deserve to live if they can't follow orders as simple as that.”
“And I warned him more than enough times to be careful, that carelessness would be dangerous. He didn't listen. I'd have killed him myself if he hadn't gone and done it first.”
With that Clyde left, pushing through the room while carefully cradling the mace against him in a two handed grip, the piece of folded paper held pressed into his hand, heading directly to where he'd been sent. To find out who Silvas was, to give him the paper, and to do whatever he needed to do.