Magic gathers and strengthens the Empire

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Magic gathers and strengthens the Empire

Postby Phil.Priest » Thu Jul 14, 2011 7:00 pm

Following the events of the Celebration of Heroes held upon the distant island nation a group of loyalist elves return and enclose themselves with the High King of the Elven Nations.

During the course of several hours the supreme crafting skills of the islanders and the items which they were willing to sell were discussed, along with annexation of the island for the Elven Nation, after all they could not withstand a magical assault with an attack from the combined armies of the Heartlands and the High King’s unique Psychomancy.

The weaponry and trinkets being made available were the immediate concern and the coffers of Pathway were overflowing with pathetic human currency which the islanders were willing to accept. Therefore an envoy would leave Pathway and purchase as many of the crafters wares as he was able to carry.

Of the group only one was able to move from place to place instantaneously and therefore he would be the one travelling to the place and retrieving the items…

Stepping out of the magically warded council room of the High King a High Elf moved, graceful with magic flowing around him as if he held the jewel at all times. Several hulking Earth Elves could be seen coming down the corridor carrying a large chest between them to a private chamber to the side of the council room, one where magic could be used.

The chest was deposited within the chamber and the furniture moved to the sides, they were unaware how much equipment would be returned so made efforts to ensure space was available for the envoy to return without causing damage.

As the earthen guard moved out of the room they took positions by the door. Inside the elf spent some time gathering his power and confirming in his mind the location he was to transport to. After an hour of contemplation he stood and grasped the handle on the chest, eyes half closed he began to reach towards his magic and brought it to carry him and the chest to the island, specifically to the coliseum where the traders were based.

He appeared within the confines of the area, an area that had been used to condemn people to death in what these primitive islanders called judgement. Trial by combat was not judgement, nor was killing the ‘winner’ if he was the guilty person, these people… barbarians.

A quick gesture at the weighty chest and it floated in the air on wings of his power, moving toward the traders the elf mentally prepared himself to deal with this lesser race… reminding himself that although they were not as superior in appearance or society they were able to bind magic to items in such a manner that no other mortal could and no immortal would, imprisoning such power was against Onlurin’s basic law…

Approaching the familiar looking women who were hawking their wares previously he bows and greets them.
“The day’s blessings to you, I am D’arvan Weyoun of House Aerielys, I have returned to purchase a great many of your weapons and trinkets which we had the pleasure of viewing at the Celebration of Heroes”

A startled look passes between the two women and after a quick conversation between the pair and the elf the chest is opened to reveal thousands of Rava, a greedy look appears in the eyes of the smaller human female and she leaves with a muttered comment about collecting more items.

Noticing the look the High Elf quickly invokes a spell upon the chest and himself to remove them from the island should he require a quick exit. A question to the remaining woman about meeting the crafters to explore what else they could make, with the appropriate funding, was asked… if he could meet them and was able to identify them they could be asked to work for the Elves directly or if they wouldn’t… then memories were able to be removed…

The following hours consisted of negotiations for a mass purchase and saw the return of the second woman with a considerable number of other finely crafted items, time was spent ensuring each item was magical and that the bindings were permanent… he would not have the funds of Pathway thrown away like a soldiers wages in a whore house.

As the sun was setting over the distant island the visiting High Elf gathered the numerous purchases, leaving the occupants of the island rich with paper that the humans honoured as a gold substitute; several piles of weapons and pieces of jewellery were bundled together, each item checked to ensure it hadn’t been swapped by the observant elf.

A quick spell later and he was able to confirm that the items he had agreed to purchase were within his packs and that no magical interference was in place to exchange them for worthless items or stop them from being removed… they would be leaving with him.

D’arvan bows to the traders and the collection of crafters that he has met throughout the long day, realising that he is likely to return to Pathway in the middle of the night he gathers the packages and with a wave of his hands they vanish to distant Pathway. Knowing full well that he could vanish from the island with the chest of rava following his contingency plan the High Elf smiles and vanishes… the chest and its contents remain behind.

With a clatter the numerous items land within the secure room, a brief alarm at unauthorised transportation sounds and as D’arvan returns it is to a room of guards and the High King himself. The visit to the island and D’arvan’s negotiations flash through his mind as Erathil views the events for himself; pleased he nods and orders the guards to leave.

“Do with these as we have discussed, they should not leave the Heartlands.” Speaks the premier High Elf, “Orders for the crafters and the island will be given once a decision has been made.” Annexation, a memory wipe or simply genocide… the latter was the previous Erathil’s first choice, likely that they would forget their knowledge if it would not be used to the Elven Nation’s benefit.

For several days the High Elf was seen making preparations, gathering materials and vanishing from Pathway to who-knew-where. Once the ritual paraphernalia was gathered and sufficient a ritual was written and those loyal to the High King, The Font and Onlurin’s ordained were gathered.

Several pages of research were compiled, research into the best location, what materials would be the most beneficial and the optimum number of souls to complete the ritual.

Those individuals invited received the same information prior to meeting in person…

“A recent expedition to an unnamed isle that has known the taint of humans and demons invited several to its shores to celebrate their freedom.

This visit revealed the people of that land to be exceptionally gifted at crafting weapons and jewellery and binding (imprisoning) magic into those items, the magic tied to them appears stable and houses powerful magic. Power of this magnitude should not be bound and therefore with the benevolence of Erathil the items have been retrieved and the magic will be released in a rite to Onlurin.

Having already determined that the magic contained is too much to be released back into the world without being bound the ritual will redirect the magic to assist Valmaneth if the Jewel cannot take the power.”

Each letter held a contingency to teleport the barer to a predetermined location, anyone not invited teleporting would likely not survive…

Weeks later the square in Dvarni which held the Well at its centre had been cleared and the area was laid out for a ritual of magnificent proportions; Elven guards, scouts and mages were relocated to the ruins of the First Great City to ensure that no interference would come. Shadows concealed the Shadow Elves, flames burned showing the Fire Elves, the Earth Elves stood stalwart in the open, unafraid… with a Diamond leading them, what did they have to fear?

Any challenge to this would be met with force, deadly to any but the most hardened of Heroes, and even they would be pushed to do much damage and survive at the same time.

The Well’s plaza was set, candles by the hundred marked a pentagram with the Well at the centre; the island-crafted goods surrounding the well; At each point a large jewel the size of a human’s head could be seen… Eudialyte for fire, tourmaline representing the Air, an identified its point as Water and at the Earth Point an Amber; at the top most point a large milky opal upon an altar dedicated to the God of Magic.

Surrounding the pentagram a circle of torches, each one a foot apart, each treated alchemically to ensure the flames would be the colour of the element they were near, forty flames to each point, twenty on each side of the point.

Should someone look closely a line of silver and gold dust weaved itself on the floor joining the candles together.

The day of the ritual had arrived; over two hundred elves had come to complete the ritual. Before each torch an elf of that element would stand, with the High Elves standing at the top point conveying a pure blend of all magic, to their left forty Fire Elves stood before torches that surrounded the Fire Point, and beyond that stood the Water Elves, torches ready to be lit that would glow an unearthly watery green; to the right of the High Elves stood the ever reliable sturdy earth elves, and next to them the restless elves of the Air.

At the gemstoned point stood the Coshwoods representing their element; the First Flame known as Kazrizil, the Capricious Wind named Temporil, the World’s Might that was Warryn and the Noble Wave called River.

With each of the Coshwoods four ordained followers of Onlurin stood, each specialised in the type of magic which they stood to represent.

In the northern point of Onlurin’s Circle the Arch-Prelate, leader of The Font of Knowledge and Power, stood with four appointed followers of Onlurin; one for each of the Absolute Elements. Erathil would not be stood within the point, however each member of the circle wore a Phoenix crest, the Arch-Prelates was much more defined, The High King and First High Elf was aptly represented.

As the sun raised itself each person took their appointed places, the centre of Dvarni reeked of power; at the appointed time the torches were lit, the light spilling from them made the elves before them seem ethereal those within the circle watched as the light bled to each point and seemed to feed the gemstones.

Before the Ritual was to begin a shout echoed throughout Dvarni, unmistakably that of the Commander of the Phoenix Guard “Praise be the Phoenix”.
A thunderous response as near one thousand voices respond, “Phoenix be Praised”.

The voices carry throughout the Heartlands, too many to be stopped easily. As the call echoes over Pathway each citizen and guard adds their voice to the praise. The humans within Clandestine hear the call and shudder, the malefic creatures upon the mountains cower in fear at the shout which seems so close and yet is so far away.

The spirits of the Elven Nation soar, the ritual is ready and those enacting their parts are energised from the unity which a simple shout mustered.

It began with the North Point, the outer most candle was lit and each candle in its line leading to the central point followed without aid, the flames flickering between black, white, gold and silver; from there the candles at each point came to life, flames of red, blue, watery-green and earthen-brown flared and flowed toward the central hexagram. As the flames circle the well the candles of the hexagram at the centre blazed with a purple sheen, pure magic.

“I am Kazrizil Coshwood, First of My Kin, I call to the Gods with my magic of Fire to free the magic imprisoned and abused.” Behind the first Fire Elf the four priests of Onlurin swayed with his words, their eyes blazing.

“I am River Coshwood, First of My Kin, I call to the Gods with my magic of Water to free the magic imprisoned and abused.” Once more the four priests stood, their eyes glowing with the depths of the sea.

“I am Temporil Coshwood, First of My Kin, I call to the Gods with my magic of Air to free the magic imprisoned and abused.” As if mirroring their comrades, the celebrants of Onlurin open their eyes, a soft blue radiance flowed out.

Spoken in Warryn’s monotonous voice; “I am Warryn Coshwood, First of My Kin, I call to the Gods with my magic of Earth to free the magic imprisoned and abused.” The four pairs of eyes become a brown sheen.

As each speaks and adds his power to Onlurin’s Circle the point fills with magic of that element, were those within not aligned to the element in question they would likely be overcome by its pure force.

At the northern point the High King’s representative stood still, magic flowing around him, more magic than he had ever handled. His voice flowed, His Master’s Voice melded with it, “I am D’arvan Weyoun, Last of My Line, Representative of The First of my Kin, I call to the Gods with my magic to free the magic imprisoned and abused.” Behind him the four who were with him gasped slightly, their eyes glowing four times as bright as any other in a colour to match the element they stood for.

The final point flared to life and magic pushed out, a hurricane of magic sprung out of the first areas and a dome formed above Onlurin’s Circle. Pressure within the dome calmed, everyone could breathe easily once more.

As the magic calmed itself the faithful of Onlurin called out “We are Onlurin’s Faithful, We call to the Gods with our Magic to free the magic imprisoned and abused.”

With the final call from the Faithful of Onlurin the outer ring of elves began to chant. The Earth Elves keeping a mono-toned bass, the combined voices of the Air Elves raising to heights unheard; the fire and water elves raising and falling in opposition; finally the High Elves added their voice to the cacophony, bringing synchronization and breaking up the opposing factions to a point where the noise became a united harmony.

The twenty clerics of Onlurin began to chant, simply reciting their element over and over.
“Fire, Fire, Fire, Fire…”
“Water, Water, Water, Water…”
“Air, Air, Air, Air…”
“Earth, Earth, Earth, Earth…”
“Light, Light, Light, Light…”
“Shadow, Shadow, Shadow, Shadow…”
“Life, Life, Life, Life…”
“Death, Death, Death, Death…”

At a nod from D’arvan the four Coshwoods moved from the point, toward the centre, stopping in the middle of the large arrow, holding the gemstone of their element that glowed brightly with the absorbed light from the torches and the magic from the elves.

“The Fire melts these chains”
“The Water corrodes the chains”
“The Air shatters the chains”
“The Earth decays the chains”

“Onlurin! Hear the words of those stood here, the magic bound and imprisoned must be set free. Your First Law is that magic should not be abused, Your ideals allow mortals to bind minor magic to objects, these objects hold vast quantities of magic!

It is the desire of those here to see the magic released and returned to the world.”

A voice undulates across the dome, echoing throughout the known world “the magic to be released is too great, it must be refocused and used before returning to the jewel.”

“Lord Onlurin hear the voices of the First Elves, for it is they who will assist in channelling the power to a usable state.”

“The magic will enrich the land, bountiful harvests and strong walls.”
“The magic will ensure the rivers flow pure”
“The magic brings rain when needed to support the fields”
“The magic brings full days of sun for the fields”

“The magic released brings health and prosperity to the lands of the Elves. So mote it be.”

With the final uttering the outer circle of elves reaches a crescendo, the clerics become pillars of their element and the magic within each part of the pentagram rushes into the Four Coshwoods and the Arch-Prelate. In unison they scream, the magic reaching into their every pore and souls.

The final act is upon them before the magic must be tamed and channelled into the world, as one they call once more…
“The Fire melts these chains”
“The Water corrodes the chains”
“The Air shatters the chains”
“The Earth decays the chains”
“We release the magic”

A back draught of magic washes over the circle, the torches go out and the elves find themselves unable to chant any further. The Clerics remain as embodiments of their element, no longer speaking or moving.

Above the Well a ball of energy hovers, its light drowning that of the still lit candles, its size rivals that of Fort Drake. If anyone could see this now they would know the Elves could use that magic to control the world… and yet they would not. It would be used to better the lands controlled by the Elves.

The five within regained their feet, their elements flowing around them. The magic was blinding, it was beautiful. Their hands moved raised towards the globe and with every bit of will power they sought to master the magic, gather it to themselves and channel it to their goal. The priests behind them were the anchors, they were the pipe.

After what seemed like hours, and was actually hours, the ball of magic had reduced to much smaller proportions, the dome of magic had long since shattered allowing the magic to flow out into the land.

Eventually the magic ran dry, hundreds of mortals watched as the five weaved the magic into the world they lived up, a score of Gods watched as they released the magic that should never have been bound.

As the last fraction os magic was used the High Elf raised his head, thanked Onlurin and fell, exhausted. The four Coshwoods thanked their Gods and Onlurin for his guidance before they to met the dark.

Throughout the lands of Valmaneth magic whispered to those who could use it, it spoke of itself being free and of the Elven lands being fortified by it. The High King smiled as his realm welcomed the magic, and his people rejoiced.
Kalist, Hope-Bringer, The Emissary of Hope
Lazar, God of Darkness
D'arvan Weyoun of House Aerielys
"Every man is guilty of all the good he didn't do"

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