12-30-2014, 11:05 PM
They spoke for more than an hour. Rather, he spoke and the Librarian scribbled a response. They went back and forth like this, Magus talking and then pausing while the Librarian wrote something for him to read, to which he would reply.
It wasn’t more than ten minutes into the ‘conversation’ that the Magus realized it wasn’t going anywhere, that the Librarian was obviously skeptical of his contributions in the fight against the Rathalos. He wasn’t sure exactly how these fucking savages were privy to such thorough and up-to-date information, but they obviously were capable of at least slightly more than he’d given them credit for.
“The dragon is dead, and all I’m seeking is information,” the mage said with an edge of exasperation in his voice. “Your kingdom is safe; there’s no reason to keep this information from me any longer. What more could you have me do?”
The orangutan scribbled something onto the parchment, which was now thick with the creature’s surprisingly good penmanship.
The kingdom is safe from the dragon, but not from you.
The slightest frown formed on Magus’ otherwise poker face. So, they’d decided he was a threat. “What have I done to make you think your land has anything to fear from me?” he leaned in closer to the Librarian, who began writing his response.
You are reckless and seek to turn the lens of Omni’s focus upon yourself. You seek to confront him and draw his ire. Camelot cannot be held responsible for bringing you to him and facilitating this confrontation.
Magus’ eye twitched. Only slightly, but it had been just enough for the Librarian to see. The orangutan tensed up. Magus saw the steel in his eyes. The people of Camelot had never intended to help him. “I was supposed to die bringing down your dragon. You sent me on a suicide mission – that’s why the guards are here, isn’t it? I would just come back from the dead anyway; letting me go get myself killed gave you enough time to fortify your Library.”
The Librarian wrote nothing in reply, but his gaze darkened. Maddeningly, despite the uncomfortable silence that fell upon the two of them, the creature’s visage revealed nothing of his intent to the wizard. Magus watched him with the practiced, bored-and-annoyed stare he used in these situations, unwilling to give a single detail more away to the Librarian than he gained from him.
“You were wrong to worry about me before now,” Magus stated, quietly and evenly. He turned on his heel and strode for the exit, and the Librarian watched him go. Magus disappeared and the Captain, who had stood just far enough away to have barely heard the question, stepped forward.
“I’m going to have him followed,” he said. The Librarian nodded his approval, and the Captain rushed toward his men.
Magus burst through one of the double doors of the Library and out into the alley. He stepped as lively as he could without making his hurry exceedingly conspicuous to the people and wizards – and guards – of Dalaran. A confrontation would unacceptably delay his progress and complicate the situation dramatically.
So, then, he considered as he reentered the ludicrously busy streets of Dalaran. What do I do now?
He ducked, shimmied, and lurched through the aggravating sea of bodies, mostly human but some not, his lavender hair trailing behind him. He consciously avoided bumping against anyone, lest they either make a scene or direct undue attention to him, but even accounting for that, he was making slower progress through the throngs than he’d have liked.
His plan was simple: if he couldn’t get help from those in power in Camelot, he would find help from a neighboring kingdom, perhaps one which resented Camelot. That was, if the idea of a ‘neighboring kingdom’ even worked in these bizarre, a la carte realities. He grunted disapprovingly to himself as he struggled to move past a particularly rotund fellow; if there wasn’t a neighboring kingdom, there was surely someone who despised Camelot or the Librarian, or at the very least wasn’t concerned with working against their interests.
But that would mean shaking the trail he’d picked up on his way out. Fucking amateurs. He might have missed it if they’d changed out of their shiny, polished-thrice-daily, compensatory suits of armor, but as it was, he could see the shimmering glint of their metal suits contrasted against the non-reflective fibers worn by virtually everyone else quite easily.
It wouldn’t be too difficult to stay ahead of those clanky bastards, but he quickened his pace all the same, becoming only just a bit aggressive when presented without an opportunity to move forward. He was getting the occasional stink-eye or rude gesture but nobody seemed to be willing to take things any further just yet.
Magus hadn’t quite anticipated, however, for there to be another group of idiotically-clad metal men heading toward the intersection which he was now committed to heading toward, as the last alley he could have ducked into had been passed up by the guards already following him.
He caught sight of the second group marching toward him as he entered the center of the intersection, and at that moment both groups began shouting and sprinting toward him.
“Get on the ground and surrender immediately!!” was one sentence that seemed to stand out amidst the various ‘get out of the ways’ and ‘you are under arrests’ and the rest. Naturally, Magus obeyed his first inclination, which was to throw himself into a leaping elbow, crushing the nose of some impudent fool who’d heard the commotion and fancied himself a vigilante.
Sorry, friend, Magus thought to himself after the wet, squishy crunching noise had given way to a weak cry of genuine hurt. The man toppled and the Fiendlord ran through the crowd which now did what it could to part out of his way. You won’t be impressing any girls today.
Magus barreled through the crowd at top speed, pushing and throwing people out of his way and making judicious use of his elbows when a simple shove wasn’t sufficient. The shouting of panicked bystanders mingled with the staccato thumps of boots on pavement as the guardsmen ran after him. They, too, pushed and shoved their way through the crowd, though most parted ahead of them in the wake of Magus’ disruptions.
Despite their backwoods-y armor, some of the guards were outpacing him. The archmage know he’d be out of time soon, and began channeling a contingency. As he ran toward the edge of town – the literal edge of the flying city – he began to summon forth his arcane energy.
Tiny, dusty pink-and-purple motes flashed near-invisibly, swirling near his hands and eyes as he beat his feet over the cobblestone. His muscles burned and stretched tight, sweat beaded down his forehead and stained his back and armpits, and he panted hard as he fought to keep pace. All the while, that slowly swirling power gathered and intensified around him, building and coalescing as he ran.
Pain started to radiate from his sides, but still, he could not slow down. He might not be able to die, but he would be no help to Schala locked away in some awful Camelot dungeon for evading the law. Clasping one hand over his right side in a feeble attempt to deal with the shrieking pain that now seared through his abdomen, he brutally cracked some poor fool across the face to get him out of the way. He collapsed in a heap as Magus leapt over him.
There!!
He could see the edge of the city beyond a small courtyard. A ‘boardwalk,’ which, for all he knew, ringed the entire city. It certainly extended beyond his sight in either direction. The crowd noticeably thinned out here, too.
“Stop!!” he heard the commanding shout from behind. Alarmingly, it seemed much closer than Magus anticipated. A low buzz and crackle accompanied the building maelstrom which secretly enveloped the wizard. Leaping onto the boardwalk, he stumbled, slapping a hand against the pavement to right himself, but he couldn’t keep running.
Defeated, he let his run deteriorate into a tired jog before he finally turned to face his pursuers, not giving them the benefit of seeing him double over in exhaustion, despite the fire of agony in his belly. He watched as the guardsmen fanned out around him, all drawing various weaponry.
One man stepped forward. “You’re under arrest. On your knees.”
Magus, panting, flicked his gaze back and forth. The civilians had given them a great deal of space, but there was nowhere to go. If he chose to run either way down the boardwalk, he’d be intercepted and flanked, and the way he’d come was now filled with angry, tired, armed men.
The man who’d stepped forth roared at Magus. “Get on your-!!”
Before he could finish, a thick, greasy haze enveloped them, blotting out all light. There were shouts and panic, and Magus took that instant to turn back and run, full sprint, at the edge of Dalaran. A vast expanse of empty sky awaited him, and against every instinct which screamed at him to just fucking stop, to turn back and give up, he jumped.
Just as soon as he fell below the edge of the boardwalk, Magus dispelled his Miasma, and almost instantly, the soupy blackness gave way to a dozen utterly confused guards who’d inexplicably lost their quarry.
It wasn’t more than ten minutes into the ‘conversation’ that the Magus realized it wasn’t going anywhere, that the Librarian was obviously skeptical of his contributions in the fight against the Rathalos. He wasn’t sure exactly how these fucking savages were privy to such thorough and up-to-date information, but they obviously were capable of at least slightly more than he’d given them credit for.
“The dragon is dead, and all I’m seeking is information,” the mage said with an edge of exasperation in his voice. “Your kingdom is safe; there’s no reason to keep this information from me any longer. What more could you have me do?”
The orangutan scribbled something onto the parchment, which was now thick with the creature’s surprisingly good penmanship.
The kingdom is safe from the dragon, but not from you.
The slightest frown formed on Magus’ otherwise poker face. So, they’d decided he was a threat. “What have I done to make you think your land has anything to fear from me?” he leaned in closer to the Librarian, who began writing his response.
You are reckless and seek to turn the lens of Omni’s focus upon yourself. You seek to confront him and draw his ire. Camelot cannot be held responsible for bringing you to him and facilitating this confrontation.
Magus’ eye twitched. Only slightly, but it had been just enough for the Librarian to see. The orangutan tensed up. Magus saw the steel in his eyes. The people of Camelot had never intended to help him. “I was supposed to die bringing down your dragon. You sent me on a suicide mission – that’s why the guards are here, isn’t it? I would just come back from the dead anyway; letting me go get myself killed gave you enough time to fortify your Library.”
The Librarian wrote nothing in reply, but his gaze darkened. Maddeningly, despite the uncomfortable silence that fell upon the two of them, the creature’s visage revealed nothing of his intent to the wizard. Magus watched him with the practiced, bored-and-annoyed stare he used in these situations, unwilling to give a single detail more away to the Librarian than he gained from him.
“You were wrong to worry about me before now,” Magus stated, quietly and evenly. He turned on his heel and strode for the exit, and the Librarian watched him go. Magus disappeared and the Captain, who had stood just far enough away to have barely heard the question, stepped forward.
“I’m going to have him followed,” he said. The Librarian nodded his approval, and the Captain rushed toward his men.
Magus burst through one of the double doors of the Library and out into the alley. He stepped as lively as he could without making his hurry exceedingly conspicuous to the people and wizards – and guards – of Dalaran. A confrontation would unacceptably delay his progress and complicate the situation dramatically.
So, then, he considered as he reentered the ludicrously busy streets of Dalaran. What do I do now?
He ducked, shimmied, and lurched through the aggravating sea of bodies, mostly human but some not, his lavender hair trailing behind him. He consciously avoided bumping against anyone, lest they either make a scene or direct undue attention to him, but even accounting for that, he was making slower progress through the throngs than he’d have liked.
His plan was simple: if he couldn’t get help from those in power in Camelot, he would find help from a neighboring kingdom, perhaps one which resented Camelot. That was, if the idea of a ‘neighboring kingdom’ even worked in these bizarre, a la carte realities. He grunted disapprovingly to himself as he struggled to move past a particularly rotund fellow; if there wasn’t a neighboring kingdom, there was surely someone who despised Camelot or the Librarian, or at the very least wasn’t concerned with working against their interests.
But that would mean shaking the trail he’d picked up on his way out. Fucking amateurs. He might have missed it if they’d changed out of their shiny, polished-thrice-daily, compensatory suits of armor, but as it was, he could see the shimmering glint of their metal suits contrasted against the non-reflective fibers worn by virtually everyone else quite easily.
It wouldn’t be too difficult to stay ahead of those clanky bastards, but he quickened his pace all the same, becoming only just a bit aggressive when presented without an opportunity to move forward. He was getting the occasional stink-eye or rude gesture but nobody seemed to be willing to take things any further just yet.
Magus hadn’t quite anticipated, however, for there to be another group of idiotically-clad metal men heading toward the intersection which he was now committed to heading toward, as the last alley he could have ducked into had been passed up by the guards already following him.
He caught sight of the second group marching toward him as he entered the center of the intersection, and at that moment both groups began shouting and sprinting toward him.
“Get on the ground and surrender immediately!!” was one sentence that seemed to stand out amidst the various ‘get out of the ways’ and ‘you are under arrests’ and the rest. Naturally, Magus obeyed his first inclination, which was to throw himself into a leaping elbow, crushing the nose of some impudent fool who’d heard the commotion and fancied himself a vigilante.
Sorry, friend, Magus thought to himself after the wet, squishy crunching noise had given way to a weak cry of genuine hurt. The man toppled and the Fiendlord ran through the crowd which now did what it could to part out of his way. You won’t be impressing any girls today.
Magus barreled through the crowd at top speed, pushing and throwing people out of his way and making judicious use of his elbows when a simple shove wasn’t sufficient. The shouting of panicked bystanders mingled with the staccato thumps of boots on pavement as the guardsmen ran after him. They, too, pushed and shoved their way through the crowd, though most parted ahead of them in the wake of Magus’ disruptions.
Despite their backwoods-y armor, some of the guards were outpacing him. The archmage know he’d be out of time soon, and began channeling a contingency. As he ran toward the edge of town – the literal edge of the flying city – he began to summon forth his arcane energy.
Tiny, dusty pink-and-purple motes flashed near-invisibly, swirling near his hands and eyes as he beat his feet over the cobblestone. His muscles burned and stretched tight, sweat beaded down his forehead and stained his back and armpits, and he panted hard as he fought to keep pace. All the while, that slowly swirling power gathered and intensified around him, building and coalescing as he ran.
Pain started to radiate from his sides, but still, he could not slow down. He might not be able to die, but he would be no help to Schala locked away in some awful Camelot dungeon for evading the law. Clasping one hand over his right side in a feeble attempt to deal with the shrieking pain that now seared through his abdomen, he brutally cracked some poor fool across the face to get him out of the way. He collapsed in a heap as Magus leapt over him.
There!!
He could see the edge of the city beyond a small courtyard. A ‘boardwalk,’ which, for all he knew, ringed the entire city. It certainly extended beyond his sight in either direction. The crowd noticeably thinned out here, too.
“Stop!!” he heard the commanding shout from behind. Alarmingly, it seemed much closer than Magus anticipated. A low buzz and crackle accompanied the building maelstrom which secretly enveloped the wizard. Leaping onto the boardwalk, he stumbled, slapping a hand against the pavement to right himself, but he couldn’t keep running.
Defeated, he let his run deteriorate into a tired jog before he finally turned to face his pursuers, not giving them the benefit of seeing him double over in exhaustion, despite the fire of agony in his belly. He watched as the guardsmen fanned out around him, all drawing various weaponry.
One man stepped forward. “You’re under arrest. On your knees.”
Magus, panting, flicked his gaze back and forth. The civilians had given them a great deal of space, but there was nowhere to go. If he chose to run either way down the boardwalk, he’d be intercepted and flanked, and the way he’d come was now filled with angry, tired, armed men.
The man who’d stepped forth roared at Magus. “Get on your-!!”
Before he could finish, a thick, greasy haze enveloped them, blotting out all light. There were shouts and panic, and Magus took that instant to turn back and run, full sprint, at the edge of Dalaran. A vast expanse of empty sky awaited him, and against every instinct which screamed at him to just fucking stop, to turn back and give up, he jumped.
Just as soon as he fell below the edge of the boardwalk, Magus dispelled his Miasma, and almost instantly, the soupy blackness gave way to a dozen utterly confused guards who’d inexplicably lost their quarry.
![[Image: Magus.jpg]](http://rpnexus.com/sig/miscsig/Magus.jpg)