01-16-2015, 12:48 AM
He thought he’d find out if it was true that Primes were resurrected after death, as he was falling towards his impending doom. Luckily, with a crash, Magus fell right into some foliage causing a large series of crunches and snaps to be heard throughout the forest.
With a few scrapes and bruises Magus got up from the ground, littered with the detached branches that broke his fall. With his concentration he began to focus on summoning his Dragon out of Omnilium. After some time his mount had been summoned and Magus fled, from a city he was no longer welcome in.
He would make for the capital, Minas Tirith. Of the many globes and maps predominantly displayed in the Library of Dalaran, Minas Tirith was proudly labeled on them all. He wasn’t sure exactly what he was looking for, but if those tied to the government were unwilling to help him, there were those who undoubtedly worked against it that would be happy to, in exchange for all manner of things.
And so, his dragon beat its mighty wings through the air. He would have a target on his back in Dalaran, but in Minas Tirith, he would be but a shadow; one face among many, details lost in the crowd. If it was as grand as they’d said, it would be an easy place to disappear in.
- - - - -
‘Grand,’ he quickly realized as he swept over a low cliff and into view of the city, was a woefully inadequate description of the unbridled splendor that sprawled out in front of him and up a mighty mountain range.
Minas Tirith spilled out into the valley in all directions, and wound up, up, and up to the top of the mountain, segmented into various districts, culminating with a mighty, fortified palace up at the top. White walls gleamed in the cold winter’s light. A massive black wall surrounded the boroughs that settled down in the valley, lording over its citizens, a mighty sentinel eternally at watch.
Magus flew around the perimeter of the enormous urban sprawl in a lazy circle, high up enough to be outside the realm of attention of anyone among the various Pegasi and other flying, magical creatures that the people of Camelot had evidently considered mundane.
Eyes of scarlet pored over the nooks and crannies of the city, hungrily searching, scanning, prodding for the worst of the worst. Dissenters against the state – people angry and dangerous enough to stand against the will of Camelot – that’s where they were going to be.
He wasn’t looking for just any bad neighborhood. No, he wanted the absolute most miserable, appalling neighborhood. A place where people weren’t even safe in their own homes. A place where fear and violence trumped the rule of law.
A second lazy circle was all it took to find the place. On the lowest level – of course it was on the lowest level – the buildings stood shorter and squatter than the rest, and they all seemed dingier. The roofs were warped and twisted, what little green space there was had since turned brown from neglect. A haze of pollution choked the air from the place, and what torchlight there was seemed dimmer. There was no magic fueling this place, not like the countless magefires that illuminated the wealthier boroughs.
Magus casually swept down from the air, low over the buildings of this cluttered and desperate place, and quietly leapt from the dragon and onto a long, angled roof. He tumbled along its surface and rolled up onto his feet, staying low in the fading light. It would be nightfall soon, and he would be able to move with impunity. Even if the guards at Dalaran had sent word about him to Minas Tirith, nobody’d seen him arrive, and there weren’t going to be any authorities in this place after dark.
The wizard crept to the edge of the roof nearest an alley and gracefully slipped down into it. From what he could see of the streets that flanked both exits of the alley, there weren’t a lot of people around. The two or three people he could spy from his secluded location seemed to be in quite the hurry, and all bore the scowls of people who did not want to be approached.
Magus didn’t employ these anti-social defense mechanisms. Instead, he casually strolled into the street and made his way down the road. He was looking for a chokepoint of some sort; a place a sort of person he was looking for would consider a good ambush spot, and unlike those who stiffly powerwalked to and fro in hopes of not being taken for a mark, he wanted them to attack him – it was the easiest way to find the people he was after.
It didn’t take long for him to pick up a tail. He couldn’t actually see them, but he knew when he was being hunted. Someone was definitely on his trailing, stalking somewhere in the shadows.
A little farther up the road narrowed, and that was where two men had appeared. One seemed like he might have been trying to hide around the corner, but Magus could spot just the edge of his form unhidden by the building he tried to obscure himself with. The wizard simply continued forward, paying no outward attention to the newcomers.
Magus could feel the pressure of peering eyes on his back and instantly knew that he was walking into a trap. Everything was going exactly as he planned. He made a show of running a hand through his lavender hair in order to steal a glance over his shoulder: two more men were quietly making their way after him, each walking on opposite sides of the narrowing road.
The men in front separated, mirroring the ones behind by each taking a side of the road. They were all dressed in rough clothing: a mish-mash of rough fabrics, worn and ratty and threadbare. Magus spotted a gleam of metal that shone from beneath a cloth sash tied around one of the men’s waists as they all closed in on him.
“A fine evening to you, gentlemen,” Magus spoke the greeting with a smile dripping with false joviality. His crimson eyes regarded the two in front of him with careful consideration, ever mindful of the ones behind him.
“You fuckin’ slummin’ or something?” one of the two in front demanded. He was tall and pale, his face marked with a nasty burn that stretched from his cheek up and across his nose. The one that stood aside, the one who was carrying something metallic, was shorter and stockier, with a shock of black hair on top of his head. He didn’t say anything, but he did step toward Magus.
The wizard stopped walking but he didn’t respond. The stocky one’s arm seemed drawn to the item hidden by his sash.
“You get some kind of thrill cruising through bad neighborhoods?” the tall one taunted. “This isn’t the place for some pampered freak to get his rocks off.”
“I see,” Magus responded, still indifferent to Tall-Man’s threatening posture. “I thank you for the warning.”
“Fuck you!” came a voice from behind. The wizard turned just in time to see a burly, dark-skinned man swing a weapon at him. Magus cleanly, but barely, sidestepped the blow and drove his palm into the man’s solar plexus, forcing his air from his lungs.
Before he could catch his breath, Magus threw drove his fist into his assailant’s face while at the same time he wrestled the weapon out of his hands. It was an honest-to-God war hammer; a thin, three-and-change foot metal shaft, topped with a small, round hammer – complete with a sinister hook on the back of the hammer’s head.
Magus swung the hammer down hard across his attacker’s knee. It collided with a savage snap of bone and the raw shriek of agony that accompanied it. The man fell to his knees, only to take another hammer blow to the temple. There was another crunch of breaking bone but no scream this time. The man fell sideways onto the ruined cobblestone, his eyes open and glazed over, killed in a manner uncomfortably reminiscent of his run-in with ruffians in Dalaran.
A shuffle of feet and a flash of metal and Magus’ mind was back in the fight. This time, two of the men attacked at once, the remaining one from behind and the stocky man from the front. The two of them brandished knives and made to use them.
The one on his flank slashed at Magus who stepped into the knife-wielder’s personal space and clasped the wrist of his knife-arm while driving a backwards heel kick into the gut of the stocky knifeman.
Magus wrenched forward the wrist of the man he’d restrained, forcing him to stab his compatriot. The wizard kicked the remaining man, staggering him backward. Before he could recover, Magus raised his hammer over his head with both hands and swung it down, crushing his skull. He and the stabbed man both collapsed, leaving only the tall one. Magus tossed the bloody hammer aside and turned to face the only surviving attacker.
The mage looked the tall, burned man up and down, before focusing his gaze on the knife he brandished. “Are you also going to try to attack me?” he allowed the following silence to answer the question. “I am called ‘Fiendlord,’ ‘Archmage,’ ‘Demon King,’” he said. “You may call me Magus.”
“Wh-What do you-”
“You’re going to take me to the one who runs this place. I want to speak to the most-connected person you know. I want to meet the person you’re more afraid of than you are of me right now,” Magus quietly explained. “You know. Either that or I eviscerate you and leave you bloody and broken like these fools at our feet.”
The Burned Man seemed like he was trying to decide whether or not he had a choice in the matter. Magus could wait. For now.
With a few scrapes and bruises Magus got up from the ground, littered with the detached branches that broke his fall. With his concentration he began to focus on summoning his Dragon out of Omnilium. After some time his mount had been summoned and Magus fled, from a city he was no longer welcome in.
He would make for the capital, Minas Tirith. Of the many globes and maps predominantly displayed in the Library of Dalaran, Minas Tirith was proudly labeled on them all. He wasn’t sure exactly what he was looking for, but if those tied to the government were unwilling to help him, there were those who undoubtedly worked against it that would be happy to, in exchange for all manner of things.
And so, his dragon beat its mighty wings through the air. He would have a target on his back in Dalaran, but in Minas Tirith, he would be but a shadow; one face among many, details lost in the crowd. If it was as grand as they’d said, it would be an easy place to disappear in.
- - - - -
‘Grand,’ he quickly realized as he swept over a low cliff and into view of the city, was a woefully inadequate description of the unbridled splendor that sprawled out in front of him and up a mighty mountain range.
Minas Tirith spilled out into the valley in all directions, and wound up, up, and up to the top of the mountain, segmented into various districts, culminating with a mighty, fortified palace up at the top. White walls gleamed in the cold winter’s light. A massive black wall surrounded the boroughs that settled down in the valley, lording over its citizens, a mighty sentinel eternally at watch.
Magus flew around the perimeter of the enormous urban sprawl in a lazy circle, high up enough to be outside the realm of attention of anyone among the various Pegasi and other flying, magical creatures that the people of Camelot had evidently considered mundane.
Eyes of scarlet pored over the nooks and crannies of the city, hungrily searching, scanning, prodding for the worst of the worst. Dissenters against the state – people angry and dangerous enough to stand against the will of Camelot – that’s where they were going to be.
He wasn’t looking for just any bad neighborhood. No, he wanted the absolute most miserable, appalling neighborhood. A place where people weren’t even safe in their own homes. A place where fear and violence trumped the rule of law.
A second lazy circle was all it took to find the place. On the lowest level – of course it was on the lowest level – the buildings stood shorter and squatter than the rest, and they all seemed dingier. The roofs were warped and twisted, what little green space there was had since turned brown from neglect. A haze of pollution choked the air from the place, and what torchlight there was seemed dimmer. There was no magic fueling this place, not like the countless magefires that illuminated the wealthier boroughs.
Magus casually swept down from the air, low over the buildings of this cluttered and desperate place, and quietly leapt from the dragon and onto a long, angled roof. He tumbled along its surface and rolled up onto his feet, staying low in the fading light. It would be nightfall soon, and he would be able to move with impunity. Even if the guards at Dalaran had sent word about him to Minas Tirith, nobody’d seen him arrive, and there weren’t going to be any authorities in this place after dark.
The wizard crept to the edge of the roof nearest an alley and gracefully slipped down into it. From what he could see of the streets that flanked both exits of the alley, there weren’t a lot of people around. The two or three people he could spy from his secluded location seemed to be in quite the hurry, and all bore the scowls of people who did not want to be approached.
Magus didn’t employ these anti-social defense mechanisms. Instead, he casually strolled into the street and made his way down the road. He was looking for a chokepoint of some sort; a place a sort of person he was looking for would consider a good ambush spot, and unlike those who stiffly powerwalked to and fro in hopes of not being taken for a mark, he wanted them to attack him – it was the easiest way to find the people he was after.
It didn’t take long for him to pick up a tail. He couldn’t actually see them, but he knew when he was being hunted. Someone was definitely on his trailing, stalking somewhere in the shadows.
A little farther up the road narrowed, and that was where two men had appeared. One seemed like he might have been trying to hide around the corner, but Magus could spot just the edge of his form unhidden by the building he tried to obscure himself with. The wizard simply continued forward, paying no outward attention to the newcomers.
Magus could feel the pressure of peering eyes on his back and instantly knew that he was walking into a trap. Everything was going exactly as he planned. He made a show of running a hand through his lavender hair in order to steal a glance over his shoulder: two more men were quietly making their way after him, each walking on opposite sides of the narrowing road.
The men in front separated, mirroring the ones behind by each taking a side of the road. They were all dressed in rough clothing: a mish-mash of rough fabrics, worn and ratty and threadbare. Magus spotted a gleam of metal that shone from beneath a cloth sash tied around one of the men’s waists as they all closed in on him.
“A fine evening to you, gentlemen,” Magus spoke the greeting with a smile dripping with false joviality. His crimson eyes regarded the two in front of him with careful consideration, ever mindful of the ones behind him.
“You fuckin’ slummin’ or something?” one of the two in front demanded. He was tall and pale, his face marked with a nasty burn that stretched from his cheek up and across his nose. The one that stood aside, the one who was carrying something metallic, was shorter and stockier, with a shock of black hair on top of his head. He didn’t say anything, but he did step toward Magus.
The wizard stopped walking but he didn’t respond. The stocky one’s arm seemed drawn to the item hidden by his sash.
“You get some kind of thrill cruising through bad neighborhoods?” the tall one taunted. “This isn’t the place for some pampered freak to get his rocks off.”
“I see,” Magus responded, still indifferent to Tall-Man’s threatening posture. “I thank you for the warning.”
“Fuck you!” came a voice from behind. The wizard turned just in time to see a burly, dark-skinned man swing a weapon at him. Magus cleanly, but barely, sidestepped the blow and drove his palm into the man’s solar plexus, forcing his air from his lungs.
Before he could catch his breath, Magus threw drove his fist into his assailant’s face while at the same time he wrestled the weapon out of his hands. It was an honest-to-God war hammer; a thin, three-and-change foot metal shaft, topped with a small, round hammer – complete with a sinister hook on the back of the hammer’s head.
Magus swung the hammer down hard across his attacker’s knee. It collided with a savage snap of bone and the raw shriek of agony that accompanied it. The man fell to his knees, only to take another hammer blow to the temple. There was another crunch of breaking bone but no scream this time. The man fell sideways onto the ruined cobblestone, his eyes open and glazed over, killed in a manner uncomfortably reminiscent of his run-in with ruffians in Dalaran.
A shuffle of feet and a flash of metal and Magus’ mind was back in the fight. This time, two of the men attacked at once, the remaining one from behind and the stocky man from the front. The two of them brandished knives and made to use them.
The one on his flank slashed at Magus who stepped into the knife-wielder’s personal space and clasped the wrist of his knife-arm while driving a backwards heel kick into the gut of the stocky knifeman.
Magus wrenched forward the wrist of the man he’d restrained, forcing him to stab his compatriot. The wizard kicked the remaining man, staggering him backward. Before he could recover, Magus raised his hammer over his head with both hands and swung it down, crushing his skull. He and the stabbed man both collapsed, leaving only the tall one. Magus tossed the bloody hammer aside and turned to face the only surviving attacker.
The mage looked the tall, burned man up and down, before focusing his gaze on the knife he brandished. “Are you also going to try to attack me?” he allowed the following silence to answer the question. “I am called ‘Fiendlord,’ ‘Archmage,’ ‘Demon King,’” he said. “You may call me Magus.”
“Wh-What do you-”
“You’re going to take me to the one who runs this place. I want to speak to the most-connected person you know. I want to meet the person you’re more afraid of than you are of me right now,” Magus quietly explained. “You know. Either that or I eviscerate you and leave you bloody and broken like these fools at our feet.”
The Burned Man seemed like he was trying to decide whether or not he had a choice in the matter. Magus could wait. For now.
![[Image: Magus.jpg]](http://rpnexus.com/sig/miscsig/Magus.jpg)