Revelations

[Magus]

He awoke with a splitting headache and a stormy disposition. His gaze shifted, frantic, across the room. The room. Magus sat up, simultaneously realizing he’d been lying prone and that the last thing he’d remembered was riding the back of a goddamn dragon.

Falling off a dragon.

The last thing he remembered was falling off a goddamn dragon.

So, then, he was in some sort of infirmary. He cast another glance around the room, this time measured and appraising.

If this was an infirmary, it was of the shoddiest quality. The building was made up from only one room, comprised of a haphazard blend of hand-hewn stone and mud bricks. The floor was dirt, and the bed he sat upon seemed to be made from natural, unprocessed wood. A tiny table and two chairs sat against the wall opposite him, and a small, wood-fired stove sat opposite of what appeared to be a ramshackle bookshelf, only stocked with all manner of cups and cookware. A wooden chest sat next to that.

Magus cast aside the hempen blanket that covered him and reddened at the sight of himself in the nude. Where the hell are my clothes? he looked over to the chest. Who the hell undressed me?

He leapt from the bed to the chest, a blur of pale skin and hair. He threw open the chest and breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of his clothes, ragged and dirty though they were. Magus reached into the chest, prepared to put on the soiled and sweat-soured clothing, before the thought of Omnilium crossed his mind.

Right.

He closed his eyes and thought of a new set of clothes. He settled on something decidedly more regal than his last outfit, and kept the outfit pictured in his mind. He began to feel the material form around his flesh, brushing against it as it stretched and manifested upon him.

When he was finished, he was adorned in tall, black boots and tight-fitting pants, a matching, button-down formal coat, and a bright red cape with a tall hood. The thing would drag behind him as he walked. Appropriately inappropriate. It was brilliant.

It was also just then that he realized a peasant girl – probably the one who lived here – had come into the hovel as he’d been dressing himself. He’d had his eyes closed the entire time and had no idea what she had seen – or hadn’t.

The girl was pretty. Big, green eyes and long, frizzy red hair. She seemed elegant and beautiful despite her plain clothes. Despite her lowborn heritage.

“Uh…” the Prince of Zeal managed. Eloquent.

“I… see that you’re awake,” the girl replied. “I’m glad; my uncle found you while hunting a few weeks ago. You were lying in the middle of the field, as though you fell out of the sky.”

“I did.”

“…I see. Well,” she seemed a little surprised by Magus’ curt reply. Actually, though, he was impressed; this peasant was quite well-spoken. “Like I said, I’m glad you’ve woken up. It was no trouble, though I’m glad to get my bed back, if I’m honest.”

He looked at the dingy old bed. “I’m sure.”

“Primes usually heal faster than you,” the girl added. “You must be new here.”


Great. Being talked down to by the rabble. She must have gathered he was a Prime when she caught him making clothing out of thin air. So she had seen everything. Lovely.

“Yes. I was in pursuit of the Rathalos before I was… injured,” Magus replied, too tired and confused to appropriately respond as a man of his station. “Do you know where it’s gone?”

The girl seemed flustered. “It- It’s been slain. I told you; you’ve been unconscious for weeks. Nearly a month, actually.”

“I see. Most unfortunate,” Magus grumbled.

“Unfortunate?”

Magus suppressed a sigh. He was sent to defeat the Rathalos in exchange for information about Omni. Information. Word couldn’t have traveled too terribly quickly in a place such as this. A magic city would certainly be aware of the death of the Rathalos, to be sure, but so many were involved in its demise – there was no way for them to know how involved Magus was or wasn’t. Besides, he’d wounded the creature, even if only superficially.

“Nevermind, I’m just… disoriented. I fell off a dragon and woke up in a hovel-”

The girl seemed offended.

“I apologize,” he said, and he’d meant it. “Thank you for your hospitality and for caring for me. I very urgently need to go, but I shall remember your kindness,” he strode past her, and though she made to stop him, she hesitated, and Magus used that moment’s hesitation to pass her up and into the entrance. “What is your name?”

“A-Abigail,” she said.

“Abigail,” Magus parroted. “I am Magus, Archmage and King of the Mystics – and a Prime. I will return here one day soon to express my gratitude,” he paused. “Ah, …which way to Dalaran?”

The girl giggled, as though he’d asked a question that even toddlers knew the answer to. “Go outside, face west, and walk. Keep your eyes on the skies, and you’ll spot it in no time.”

The Magus nodded and stepped outside to find himself in a tiny village. Four or five tiny huts like Abigail’s dotted a tiny stretch of road, and a small vegetable garden curled halfway round one of the humble homes.

He’d have been quick to dismiss the place but found himself appreciative of the privacy it had likely afforded him. If he had been away for nearly a month, perhaps the authorities in Dalaran had forgotten about him. Perhaps anyone who had been keeping tabs on him since his incident with Sif and his men had been forgotten about.

Sif.

That sadist had also had a month to recover, albeit from far more severe injuries. Magus suspected Sif wasn’t a Prime, however, which would buy him some time. Still, it would likely be best to be in and gone from Dalaran with the information he needed before Sif or any of his associates realized he was there.

With that in mind, the wizard spent a few minutes conjuring a Pegasus rather than the dragon he’d become somewhat attached to, taking care to form the horse-like creature in as close an image to the others he’d seen as he could recall. It was probably off on a few details, but if he were suitably casual about his arrival, nobody would notice.

- - - - -

The somehow mundane Pegasus descended onto a large landing area for the creatures, landing uneventfully near a stable where dozens upon dozens of the creatures were being held. Magus leapt from his steed and, with no intention of returning to it, simply left it there. Somebody would be blessed with a new horse. Or maybe it would disintegrate once Magus got too far away from it; he wasn’t terribly certain how Omnilium worked yet.

Knowing where to go this time, Magus easily slipped through the rabble, ducking and weaving between the opening and closing gaps that naturally formed around people who weren’t as adept at getting where they needed to go in a crowd.

They moved as blood through veins and arteries, rhythmically pulsing this way and that, and backing up at intersections like clots, building up and getting worse and worse. Magus was not about to coagulate, however, and made his way through relatively cleanly, although he was forced to use a shoulder to shove one particularly rude, overweight woman out of his way.

Soon, he found himself in front of the unassuming entrance of the Library. Magus closed his crimson eyes and took a breath. He’d start with tact and grace. Throw in some diplomatic glossing-over of the events involving the Rathalos.

If and when that failed, it would be time to break some laws.