09-10-2013, 04:26 AM
“Yes, welcome to the Omniverse. I am Thrall, servant of King Arthur of the Kingdom of Camelot,” he said. Thrall spoke in a rumbling basso voice, and seemed to be distrustfully eyeing the one-eyed man.
“And I am Bradley,” spoke the commander. “Sometimes ‘King’ Bradley, but it is a term of endearment only, I assure you,” he said with a smile. Magus’ frown returned. This man was a snake; a spinner of stories. Already, he didn’t trust him. “Servant of Emperor Palpatine of Coruscant.”
“You are a Prime, a gifted individual summoned to the Omniverse by Omni himself. As you already know, that makes you… unique here,” Thrall rumbled. “You’ve not used Omnilium yet, have you?”
Magus hesitated to answer, so the storyteller spoke again. “It’s true what Omni told you. With Omnilium, you can simply will whatever you desire into existence. It can take anywhere from a few minutes to a few hours, depending on what you wish to summon, but you can manifest virtually anything, from a cup of coffee to a palace, providing you have enough Omnilium, of course.”
Magus allowed the slightest inclination of his head to indicate acknowledgement, and lazily raised his right arm to his side, closing his eyes in concentration. He’d wrought the most intricate magics, but he’d never attempted to sublimate raw materials before.
Still, he focused on what he wanted; a relatively simple object in the grand scheme of things, if Bradley was to be believed. Sure enough, after a few minutes, he felt a tangible sensation in his open palm, and latched onto it, redoubling his effort.
In moments, he opened his eyes, and looked upon the enormous scythe he’d conjured into his hand with an air of indifference. His distant, calculating eyes regarded the weapon that had literally appeared out of thin air with the same cold disinterest he might have had for finding a piece of forgotten change in a pocket.
“You see? This world is a wonderfully fascinating place,” Bradley spread his arms wide as if to emphasize the point. Magus was not impressed at his bravado. In truth, he much preferred Thrall’s guarded sensibilities; at least with him, the spellcaster knew he wasn’t being actively manipulated.
He exhaled, closing his eyes for a moment, before opening them with an indifferent stare, sweeping it from one ‘ambassador’ to the other. “So, what is the meaning of all this, then? Why do enemies with armed guards sit across one another, waiting to chat up newcomers to this place?”
“Excuse me-” Bradley started, but Thrall cut him off with a belly laugh.
“This one is clever,” he declared. “Yes, it does seem strange. We represent two different kingdoms whose leaders… are no longer fond of each other. We are both here to recruit Primes such as yourself to our respective causes.”
“Coruscant can provide you with luxury and wealth, and the most fascinating technology you could possibly imagine,” Bradley interrupted, and then added with obvious disdain, “Camelot will provide you with horses and hovels.”
“Horses, hovels, and honor,” Thrall corrected. “You’ll live lavishly in Coruscant, of that I have no doubt, but you will do so in an oppressive police-state. In Camelot, you will be free to be your own man with your own ambitions.”
“Enough,” Magus murmured.
“What did you-”
“Enough!” he snarled. His frigid, crimson eyes flared hot with anger. “I have had both of the lifestyles you offer me. I have seen what your civilizations have to offer and a dozen more. You each want me to pledge fealty to you, and what have either of you to offer me? An eternity of servitude?”
“You may tell your respective leaders that I must politely decline-”
Magus froze in mid speech, his eyes suddenly hesitant. He cast around for something, anything, to say, but could not speak. He raised his free hand to his eyes and rubbed them in apparent frustration.
In truth, a terrible realization had spread over him. The only reason he had so obsessively devoted his life to doing battle with Lavos was that he had always hoped that somehow, he would be able to find his sister, who had been captured by Lavos and his power-crazed mother when he had been scattered through time.
Schala. She was his reason for existing. She was why he fought, why he searched, why he’d built an empire and nearly destroyed another. It was for her that he adventured through time, battling all manner of terrors throughout history and righting temporal wrongs wrought by Lavos and other agents. He searched for her always. Even as the great and terrible Fiendlord of the Middle Ages, he was always principally focused on finding her and on saving her. Schala.
“I… wonder,” he began, his composure immediately relaxing back into the distant, uncaring persona he’d struck during the rest of his conversation with the two other men. “If perhaps a deal could be struck.”
“What kind of deal?” Bradley inquired irately, chafing at Magus’ impudence.
“I am looking for someone. If you can help me find this person; if you have information on their whereabouts, I will serve you for a time to be agreed upon beforehand. Otherwise, I must decline your offers, as I have much to do.”
“And I am Bradley,” spoke the commander. “Sometimes ‘King’ Bradley, but it is a term of endearment only, I assure you,” he said with a smile. Magus’ frown returned. This man was a snake; a spinner of stories. Already, he didn’t trust him. “Servant of Emperor Palpatine of Coruscant.”
“You are a Prime, a gifted individual summoned to the Omniverse by Omni himself. As you already know, that makes you… unique here,” Thrall rumbled. “You’ve not used Omnilium yet, have you?”
Magus hesitated to answer, so the storyteller spoke again. “It’s true what Omni told you. With Omnilium, you can simply will whatever you desire into existence. It can take anywhere from a few minutes to a few hours, depending on what you wish to summon, but you can manifest virtually anything, from a cup of coffee to a palace, providing you have enough Omnilium, of course.”
Magus allowed the slightest inclination of his head to indicate acknowledgement, and lazily raised his right arm to his side, closing his eyes in concentration. He’d wrought the most intricate magics, but he’d never attempted to sublimate raw materials before.
Still, he focused on what he wanted; a relatively simple object in the grand scheme of things, if Bradley was to be believed. Sure enough, after a few minutes, he felt a tangible sensation in his open palm, and latched onto it, redoubling his effort.
In moments, he opened his eyes, and looked upon the enormous scythe he’d conjured into his hand with an air of indifference. His distant, calculating eyes regarded the weapon that had literally appeared out of thin air with the same cold disinterest he might have had for finding a piece of forgotten change in a pocket.
“You see? This world is a wonderfully fascinating place,” Bradley spread his arms wide as if to emphasize the point. Magus was not impressed at his bravado. In truth, he much preferred Thrall’s guarded sensibilities; at least with him, the spellcaster knew he wasn’t being actively manipulated.
He exhaled, closing his eyes for a moment, before opening them with an indifferent stare, sweeping it from one ‘ambassador’ to the other. “So, what is the meaning of all this, then? Why do enemies with armed guards sit across one another, waiting to chat up newcomers to this place?”
“Excuse me-” Bradley started, but Thrall cut him off with a belly laugh.
“This one is clever,” he declared. “Yes, it does seem strange. We represent two different kingdoms whose leaders… are no longer fond of each other. We are both here to recruit Primes such as yourself to our respective causes.”
“Coruscant can provide you with luxury and wealth, and the most fascinating technology you could possibly imagine,” Bradley interrupted, and then added with obvious disdain, “Camelot will provide you with horses and hovels.”
“Horses, hovels, and honor,” Thrall corrected. “You’ll live lavishly in Coruscant, of that I have no doubt, but you will do so in an oppressive police-state. In Camelot, you will be free to be your own man with your own ambitions.”
“Enough,” Magus murmured.
“What did you-”
“Enough!” he snarled. His frigid, crimson eyes flared hot with anger. “I have had both of the lifestyles you offer me. I have seen what your civilizations have to offer and a dozen more. You each want me to pledge fealty to you, and what have either of you to offer me? An eternity of servitude?”
“You may tell your respective leaders that I must politely decline-”
Magus froze in mid speech, his eyes suddenly hesitant. He cast around for something, anything, to say, but could not speak. He raised his free hand to his eyes and rubbed them in apparent frustration.
In truth, a terrible realization had spread over him. The only reason he had so obsessively devoted his life to doing battle with Lavos was that he had always hoped that somehow, he would be able to find his sister, who had been captured by Lavos and his power-crazed mother when he had been scattered through time.
Schala. She was his reason for existing. She was why he fought, why he searched, why he’d built an empire and nearly destroyed another. It was for her that he adventured through time, battling all manner of terrors throughout history and righting temporal wrongs wrought by Lavos and other agents. He searched for her always. Even as the great and terrible Fiendlord of the Middle Ages, he was always principally focused on finding her and on saving her. Schala.
“I… wonder,” he began, his composure immediately relaxing back into the distant, uncaring persona he’d struck during the rest of his conversation with the two other men. “If perhaps a deal could be struck.”
“What kind of deal?” Bradley inquired irately, chafing at Magus’ impudence.
“I am looking for someone. If you can help me find this person; if you have information on their whereabouts, I will serve you for a time to be agreed upon beforehand. Otherwise, I must decline your offers, as I have much to do.”
![[Image: Magus.jpg]](http://rpnexus.com/sig/miscsig/Magus.jpg)