19th day of Spring, 512 AV
Miro was making final preparations to leave the city, but lately things had been so different. He was still hero of Alvadas, and often people gave him smiles. But it was only when they saw his arm that he was recognized, and when they were out of sight, it told him how they would laugh. It made him wish to hide, to hide everything of his existence. Today as he walked the streets, he donned the Mask of Many. Still, he had to take care to tuck his blackened arm below his cloak. That sight was all it took to be recognized. But he was not all the way departed from the city, mentally that is. He had spent so much time in this place, made a life, even enough to consider it home. So much of that love and happiness had died, yet shadows still remained. With so much of his previous self lost, there was an urging to fill it all in. The whispers of the black arm infection when coupled with his undead cravings, all of his spare time, it pushed him. He never got a moment of rest from it, and always it criticized Ender, who was incessant with his nagging.
”Do not wear that hideous mask about town, or else people will think the worst of you. Take it off, before somebody recognizes you, quickly. It is bad enough that you walk the streets casting your magic as you please. There is no talking to you, is there? You only do what you please, and only pleased to do what is wrong. To upset me, cause trouble for us, like a spoiled child. Are you even listening now? No, of course not. So, in order to get through to you, I am going to have to keep on talking. Maybe some of it will get through if I tell you enough. Take off the mask, do not cast magic, behave yourself. You claim that you are some hero, well, I find that hard to believe. That magic is screwing with your head Miro. Nothing you do even makes sense...” Always it went on, the Familiar never ceasing to criticize its master. The wizard felt that nothing he did was right, and always pulled towards passivity. And then there was his arm, always just the opposite. It heard every thought that passed through its host’s mind, and it always had some opinion.
”You’re right to wear the mask. Do not worry, none will recognize you. And that means you are free to cast your magic. You could do whatever you wanted, be anyone you pleased, as long as you wore this identity. With your reputation, as long as your arm remains concealed, you will remain unknown. Do not listen to the Ice, for it is afraid of what it does not understand. You know, with your Hypnotism, and I know you have thought so, you could influence any to follow you. Especially your damned Familiar. The insolent thing only speaks down to you, trying to break your will. Break it with the sheer weight of your truly superior will. You are the Hero of Alvadas, Champion of the People, Great Reimancer Miro, make all know it. Or, hide behind the Mask of Many, and terrorize as Alvadas’ greatest villain. Be both its greatest asset and most devious resident. Surely that would please Ionu...” And between the two, there seemed to be no room for Miro. It had seemed easier to tune them out, though it was easier said than done. Nothing could stop the arm, and it did not need to be addressed, but Ender always required some answer.
”Do not worry Ender, I have no intention of drawing attention.” The undead drew his hood up to cover his hair. ”I would not dream of using my magic in front of these people while dressed in the Mask of Many. It is meant to put a level of separation between me and them. Too many would recognize me if I did so.” The Chained One was feeling drained, stressed, and he would find no relief. There was no sleeping it off, walking away to take a break. His problems were attached to him for life, and with his promise to Uldr, his life was eternal. Until he could find balance in these burdens, there would be little happiness. It was like having two weights on his mind at all times. One urging him to act overly moral, passive, safe. And the other, well, it was much more appealing, if disheartening. It always spoke of the worst of the people around him, though it did believe in Miro. It told him how he could do anything his heart wished. Encouraged him to have fun, do bad things, and most of all, to be free. And freedom was something to desire. Often enough, it was pleasurable to give into the arm. Spite Ender and feel free at the same time.
Sometimes the wizard felt close to snapping though. To go off in a storming rampage and release his magic on those who would judge him. But in these moments of intense compulsion, the arm spoke loudest. From this he found a sense of clarity. It was at these times that he knew the truth of desire, his absolute wants. But such impulses were held off, for he was not ready to turn so quickly on everything established. The arm told him that he could get away with it, but he knew the value in controlled release. But with his mask on, he almost felt like a new person. Almost, but not quite. It did not change the fact that he had no friend, a whiney Familiar, and worst of all, he was losing the will to resist the arm. There was one good thing that came from all of his struggles and suffering though. He had money to spend. Buying things was one of the best ways to fill the hole in his heart. Though he had seen it all and bought it all, more or less. The more rare and expensive, the better. But such things were always so hard to find, and pricey as well. The Bizarre was always worth a rummaging, if one were to come across it. And the various other shops, they all had so much purpose, or a seeming lack thereof. Matilda’s shop had various trinkets, but they were low class, not fit for a hero. But there was another shop, one with a similar random assortment, but each with their own history. Rich and expensive histories at that.
But there was no way to tell how Alvadas would unwind. Sometimes a new location could just spring up, even after spending years in the city. The trickery always had some purpose, and whichever shop bought his attention first would receive his money. He passed the apothecary, which was of no use. He wasn’t even living anymore. Various inns and food shops of a similar uselessness came and went. Even the House of Broken Mirrors tempted him by appearing, but he would not be entering, not without Kinneas to scare. And finally the Bizarre, which had all sorts of various things to scamp through. It was filled with people though, and that was not so great. There were all sorts of varied things for sale, depending on where one looked. Food and trade goods, clothes, various living goods, and all of it was boring. What was of interest were the things gathered and resold by those fallen, and the prices weren’t all that bad either. But more than anything, such was a gamble, and the sellers often were itching to get rid of it in bulk. Trying to pick out one thing often included something else being pawned off, or things only being sold as a package deal. The tricks they would pull were endless. After sifting through the lot of things, there was nothing deemed of worth. The location was a bust, so onward he traveled.
For once he wished that he would chance upon a book for sale, an actual book for once. Always it was what he kept his eyes out for, and sometimes he was tricked into getting his hopes up. Journals, scrap writings or worse, a sketchbook, those were all he ever found. There was rarely anything worth a more than a glance, but still he tried. Always he was trying for something new and exciting, but as always, it had been nothing except the same old bores. At least the most faithful of locations never grew old, always having something new. As he thought this to himself, he came upon one he knew well, the Sunken Conundrum. The proprietor Hinrane was not the most agreeable person, but she did well to keep the library in order. If not for her, Miro may have stolen a book or two in the past. And being as she was, strict, vigilant, and ruthless, it was best not to look a shady character upon entering. The undead removed his hood and mask, and replaced the item on his belt. He pulled open the door, forgetting to breathe for once, and dove forth.
”I know how you feel about this place Miro. About that woman too. Look around, I don’t hear or see anyone. Think about it, how easy it would be, to kill her, take everything. The day of your departure, you come in with as many bags as you can carry. You take her out, then clear the place of the books you so desperately desire. You leave that day on a boat with a fortune of books and never look back. None would even know it was you.” It was not exactly what Miro had in mind, but there was one good point made. Few people would recognize him since Uldr reformed his body. He had a second chance to make a first impression with people. Like Morcer, who did not care for the Reimancer. Ender however was fond of the concept of the library. He always loved peace and quiet, and would definitely adore how Morcer kept him in line. ”Interested in reading up on a book, are we now? I have no objections to this. For once I might enjoy a moment of peace and quiet. Just be sure not to upset Miss Morcer, or else she may just have you silenced once and for all. Not that you don’t deserve a silencing.” Despite careless insults, the wizard still carried a smile.
If there was one thing he and Hinrane could agree on, it was that books were a perfect way to fill the emptiness in one’s life. Sadly however, these books were not quite for sale, and the mortal would eventually kick him from the library. At least it was good to occupy some time. Swimming was a struggle, or more so impossible, with the weight he carried. Having only one arm only added to this struggle. He leered over at the oak desk that housed head librarian Morcer and mused on how to strike up conversation. He began to walk towards the woman, making sure to reveal his arm held in sling. His movements were slowed, but he was approaching on her more quickly than he anticipated. Not since Uldr had changed his body had Miro set foot in this place, which meant he looked to be a stranger. And lucky for him, he wasn’t well known before, more a familiar face than a name. ”You’re right, she won’t know you, even without the mask. In that case, might you take advantage? Your mind was abuzz with thoughts of stealing, so let’s do so. Make a good impression, then use her good faith to walk out with a book.” And there was definitely something the infection and host could agree on as well. Damned would he be though to blindly follow the advice.
First impressions were important, and seeing as Miro already had his of her, he could make this count. He prepared his voice with Hypnotism, an emotional response. The woman behind the oaken desk filled with books eyed him suspiciously, but this would not deter him even slightly. Dull grey eyes peered in through the librarian’s spectacles. Cold eyes stared back, judging him without ever seeming to blink. The Hypnotist capitalized on this connection and fueled the Djed to his eyes to cast a suggestion. As she would gaze into his eyes, judging his value, a subconscious message, ”He seems respectable.” And with his first impression made for him, he could speak with an assured confidence. His words would instill an emotional response of affability. ”Good morning, Miss Morcer, how are you?” The lady raised an eyebrow, but then grew a subtle smirk. She did not recognize the face so familiar with her. ”Oh, I am quite fine. Erm, excuse me, but, do I know you?”
Things were going quite well so far, the dialogue surprisingly pleasant, given his speaking partner. Perhaps it was the Hypnotism, or his more mature appearance, but he did indeed garner a fine response. He would need to push things a step further with his casting to ensure his goals were met though. Another suggestion was charged into his voice and ready to be cast. It would appear in her mind as, ”Is he famous?” The undead spoke in as humble a tone as possible, admittedly foreign it was.. ”Perhaps you have heard my name, but a meeting, no, I haven’t had the pleasure.” The Hypnotist readied another suggestion. This time, ”He’s the Hero of Alvadas, what an honor.” But this time, he would speak with a bit of pride behind his tone, and of course, a strong flavoring of Djed. ”I am Miro, though lately I have been getting a lot of attention and called a lot of things. I have been told that this is the place to go for all of my reading needs, and that the books are kept in excellent condition.” He broke the gaze to look down at his arm and rustle his hair with his free hand. As he broke eye contact, he switch the channeling of Djed to his eyes, then reconnected with Hinrane. Their locked gaze channeled the spell, an emotional response of respect.
The woman seemed to smear away any fond emotion formerly shown, instead now holding her normal grim expression. ”Very nice to meet you, Miro. I am Hinrane Morcer, but you already know this. And you have indeed heard correctly, this is the place. Welcome to the Sunken Conundrum, please enjoy our vast collection of books. We have an excellent collection of well preserved works. If you need any assistance, feel free to inquire with me.” Miro to this gave a pleased smile, avoiding a toothy grin that would reveal his wicked teeth. ”Thank you Hinrane, it is very nice to meet you. I will definitely do so. I am surprised the rumours of this place did not include how charming the Head Librarian is. I will be sure to add that to my recommendation of your establishment.” And with that the wizard walked off, knowing very well where the section on magical texts were. It was a section he had thumbed through, but never read through. But he was not quite looking to lose himself in tome after tome, for that pleasure would fade and be lost. To have to return here, be amongst people and borrow, that was not what he craved. He looked to fill the hole in his heart by finding a new possession dear to him. And with Morcer’s newfound respect for him, perhaps he could leave this place with a book in hand.
”Well, I don’t quite understand. You always made the woman out to be a strict and screaming monster. But now I see, she is just a pleasant lady. Really, it is pretty disappointing for me. I had hoped she would give you a good tongue lashing. Now how can I even believe you anymore? Is this what you do, lie about nice old women for fun? You are quite the untrustworthy fellow Miro. I feel sorry for this Morcer, for she is far too kind and trusting. Soon she will come to learn to be weary of you.” Then, as is tradition in Miro’s mind, the arm. ”Truly the foolish creature does not understand. She was indeed strict, harsh, and untrusting, as your mind so clearly says. You are different now than you were before, before me that is. How much more wise we have grown together. Sly, cunning, smooth. Of course you would not allow the same treatment to be handed to you twice.” At least what his arm whispered was comforting to hm. Relief to wash away scornful words. It was easy to agree with, for it knew him so well. It empowered him slightly, and his posture lifted. ”You have made such a powerful impression on her that she will not hound you anymore. You would be free to take a trophy with you. How sweet the reward of holding a book would be. Indeed you can, so you should.”
And it was that simple. The host was simply too easy to read, and then to be influenced by that reading. There was nothing else that could push the thought of owning a book from his mind. Stolen or not, its value did not decrease, a trophy to be cherished. In the past, before his change, Miro could swear to see her face around every corner. Not as if she was standing there, but, to catch a glimpse of her glaring behind spectacles reflected in the water. Those judging, mistrusting eyes, the kind that read people like books. Sometimes the entire library would make you feel uninvited. The waters would seem dark, too dark to read by. And sometimes you’d see things, shadowy figures moving behind the shelves. Hear things too, like creatures sloshing through the waters. And the worst, he could swear to hear whispers of warning. If he were to damage a book, mistreat it, think of harming the library, that the place would swallow him whole. That he would find himself trapped in a book, the subject of a horror novel. The fate befallen to those cursed by this place. It was part of the reason why the undead wouldn’t enjoy being here. Even this place was not free from the trickery of the city. Though today, it seemed to shine a bit brighter, even in the dark corner of the magic section. The waters were unusually serene. It was like a different place entirely.
For now the Reimancer was looking for some book to steal. He would ask to borrow it for a few days, then depart, never to return. The old hag would expect that he forgot to return the book, for a while at least. Then maybe she would suspect him of stealing, but then feel so rotten about how she thought so much of him as to loan a book. To settle her mind she would deem him dead, some tragedy that would be a great loss to the city. But as for which book, it was hard to choose which one was best. Miro thumbed through all sorts of titled texts, and it only became harder as he looked deeper. There were some questionable one’s and others he was not sure belong in the section, but others sounded too appealing to pass up. He knew if he was going to get away with this, if at all, it would be just barely. One book, and not the most valuable either. It was not until he came across two books placed side by side with the same title that he halted. On the cover, “The Treval Codex”, written in bold text. Two copies of the same book. It was perfect. He wasn’t too sure what a Treval was, or even a codex really, but it was all the more reason to choose it. To be sure, he cracked the more appealing of the two open and peered inside.
It was written in Common Tongue, though hard to read. The phrasing and organization of the words were unusual, which meant it was fancy. The author must have really been something to write at this level. And it was indeed a text on magic, though in this section, it did not speak much of casting. This particular section seemed to speak of the possibilities that great magic users could achieve. Though also, there seemed to be a warning within it. A message of responsibility, which was something he already knew, so it was easy to overlook. But it was interesting enough, and provided an opportunity to get his book. The library did not need two, and he could work his charm to make sure Morcer agreed. Rather than borrow, or steal, it would even be possible to purchase the work. He took his prize and proceeded back to the oaken desk to attempt a transaction. There was an art to bartering, and this was one that always eluded the young wizard in Alvadas. But the art of flaunting, that was something he would admit to being excellent at. Books were quite expensive, sure, but he would offer a deal one could not refuse.
Miro had already prepared his gaze with a charm by the time he walked into sight. This was the time that the effect needed to convey the proper emotions and thoughts with precision. What he asked was out of the question for the citizens of Alvadas, and he was asking to be the exception with this. He hoped that being a respectable figure with money would be enough, and if it would not be, perhaps with Hypnotism it would be enough. The Hypnotist had his eyes fueled with Djed as to constantly deliver a fitting emotion. Initially, as soon as the two met in eye contact, it was excitement. She would be surprised to find herself excited to see him, and with any luck it would give a powerful push. He flashed a pleasant smile as he approached her and placed the book on the desk. His voice would medium the various suggestions he would emit, his Djed charged vocal cords humming a delicate friendly tone. The initial suggestion would cushion his words, as not to set her mind in the wrong direction. ”I should hear him out.”
”Excuse me, Hinrane, you have two copies of this book.” The undead readied another suggestion, another dose of Djed taken, this one to open her mind. He would suggest, “As long as there is another copy still on the shelves." And with it the emotion in his gaze would turn to receptivity. "I am quite taken with the work, and would be very interested in purchasing it." But at that, she broke contact with his charming gaze to look at the book. Her face turned sullen and the disenchantment was palpable. With that he ended the Hypnotism channel, hoping to reassess and bring things to a close. "In the Sunken Conundrum, books are not for sale, even copies. They are rare, valuable, and every one precious. I am sorry Miro, but this has always been my policy." She would not switch positions so easily, even for the charming man. Despite all he had established thus far, it was not enough. Thoughts of doubt passed through the wizard’s mind. ”It would be much easier to simply stun her and run for the door. You could flee out of sight before anyone would take notice.” Though it was a horrible idea presented to him. He had used his real name, his reputation. To ruin it while he still had a chance was ridiculous.
Though her words were indeed like a stab in the undead's heart. His manipulation was not successful, but of course he was not done yet. He drooped his head in disappointment, gathering Djed for another casting, and when he lifted, once again Morcer returned eye contact. She looked upset. His eyes would fill her with a deep emotional response pity, and his voice would urge her to give him a chance. He would not prepare a suggestion to go along with his words, but rather, leave some words to be suggested and linger in her mind. "I understand very well. Your books are indeed precious, and I respect that. I have been looking so long for a book like this one, and so excited to find it. To see you have two copies, I was hopeful I might be able to part with one.” The Hypnotist hesitated for a moment to change his emotional response to that of willingness. ”I would be willing to pay well for it, especially considering how you’ve received me today. One hundred gold Miza for a book you have two copies of. That is a generous offer, for a generous lady.”
And with that, Miro’s use of Hypnotism was done. This time he felt he had gone a bit too far. His eyes itched and burned, on top of his vision being slightly blurred. His eyes had dilated, and his mind was slightly sensitive to the light in the room. But the worst of it was the feeling on his vocal cords, as if he had screamed at the top of his lungs and given himself a sore throat. It reminded him of when he would use the Flux to scream at Kinneas to try and get his way. The end result was always the same. The old man got peace from the child unable to complain for a while. The Chained One however was pleased that he had asserted his dominance, though he knew he must look away. His gaze dropped down to the book, and he did his best to suppress the building excitement. A feigned solemness washed his face clean of any emotion. ”Each book in here is valuable, some worth hundreds of miza. I ensure that they are taken care of and have a loving home. I can tell you would give this book a wonderful home and love it. And since there are two copies, I can assume it is not so rare, and part with one. If you are sure you are willing to pay it, one hundred Miza it is.”
Excitement shot to the Hypnotist’s face and overwhelmed all reserve he led. His voice was hoarse, but he would play it off as being touched. ”Of course. T-thank you.” He wiped his eyes with his sleeve and took his Miza pouch from his belt. From it he made ten stacks of ten coins and took the book in hand. ”You are too kind.” Head Librarian Morcer made the coins disappear and smiled back. She spoke in the kindest tone he had ever heard her speak, ”Of course Miro, please enjoy your book.” He simply nodded and walked towards the exit. As he exited the illusionary threshold, he opened his cloak and tucked the book in his sling. His entire body surged with ecstasy from a satisfying display of his power and dominance. Some might mistake him for being drunk or on drugs. With as common as this was in Alvadas, none would suspect him drunk on magic and power. Still it was not the image he wanted to present to his name, so the Mask of Many was resecurred onto his face.
The hole in his dead heart was not quite filled, but perhaps covered for now. The initial excitement was still with him, and he was ready to go home and read his book. It would look magnificent next to the scribbled journals, an actual prize worth reading, time after time even. Though, Miro would admit, the price was steeper than just the money. His head was shaken with a migraine headache on the right side of his head. Sound and light was almost unbearable, and he was thankful to have his identity hidden. He hid under the hood of cloak and continued on. But Alvadas was playing a trick on him. The further he walked, the more he felt he was walking away from Avain Manor. He seemed to pass all of the typical spots. After a bell the sun had begun dropping, and the undead was getting desperate. So much so that he was even choosing various directions to walk in hopes of getting to his destination. A pointless act with obviously random streets.
Luckily Miro’s undead body never did get tired, and indeed his disguise hid his true identity. He even managed to rid himself of his headache after a while. He had all but given up hope of returning home when he came across a shop, one he hadn’t passed thus far. It was one he had intended to visit, but he hadn’t the chance, until now that was. Already he had his book, tucked neatly in his sling next to a certain letter, but it would not kill him to have a look. Karash might even enjoy seeing one of his artifacts return to the shop. The wizard opened the door to enter the wooden storeroom of Divine Legacy and began to browse. Immediately though he felt as if he was being watched, but every time he looked back, Karash was looking down. Eventually the feeling grew and with it suspicion. The Chained One was sure he was being watched, and decided to watch the shop owner. After a few moments, the man spoke. ”Welcome to Divine Legacy, Miro, looking for something?”
It was worth a startle, though the Reimancer held composure. He knew he was being watched. ”Yeah, I am, looking for something alright. I don’t know what that something is, at least, not quite yet. I am sure with your selection something will catch my attention though.” The four armed keep actually grew a grin, though it was hard to see, as he still refused to lift his face from whatever script he read. With one hand he lifted it and for a moment glanced out across the shop, then with his remaining three arms he pointed at different locations. ”There are three items in particular that I think you may have some interest in. When you’ve found something, bring it up to me and I will tell you its history and price. If I am not mistaken, you are most interested in the ghastlier of my wares, are you not? The mask on your face certainly would lead me to think as much.” But what the Eypharian did not mention were the hints given by auras. Not only the dark aura his customer bore, but the items as well.
Miro looked over the suggested items, but he was not too sure that he was interested in any. They were odd items, almost scary. The first, a satchel, leathery, finely crafted, but as he touched it, his skin crawled. He got goosebumps, and the strap practically fell into his hand. The object was unusually warm, and when he thought to himself what he would use it for, his mind went to a dark place. He quickly released it and moved onto the next item. The next item was a woven rope made from a white fabric. A red design was drawn all across it. The white color of it reminded the wizard of an old man’s beard, and that made him smile. But as he looked it over, though the weave was tight, the material was thin and weak. The ends were badly frayed and it did not seem reliable for any practical use. It was not long, and given how expensive things were here, he did not care to test its strength. So onto the last item he went, one off in a corner, somewhat alone. He was sure this was what Karash was pointing at, for it gave him a familiar sensation. As if Miro and seen this item before. Perhaps he had come across it previously while browsing.
”Hey, Karash, did you move this item back here since last I came to shop?” The Eypharian sounded as if he was growing increasingly annoyed. ”No Miro, I haven’t moved anything. But it looks to me that you’ve found something you like. You seem taken with that item, bring it to me.” Yet again his face was too buried in his script to even lift a glance, which annoyed the customer. Though he was arguably curious. It seemed to him that Karash was so eager to make a sale that he would say anything. Begrudgingly the item was taken to the top counter where it received the full attention of the shop keep. ”Ah, well, this is quite the curious item. Give me a moment, I need to recall the history as it was told to me. Also, to look it over. For defects, that is.” The Aurist took the item and turned it over, holding it in his hands, looking it over in various ways, but this was a ruse. What he was really doing was buying time. The longer he held it, the closer in sync he got with its aura, and the more of its history “came back to him”.
Already Karash had been watching the aura of this gauntlet, how the item seemed to react to the presence of Miro within the shop. The items had a way of calling out to the people within, some resonating with them. He was already aware of the items structure, knowing it was still in fine condition, even after being taken from the corpse it arrived on. It was one of his own items, which often had a way of coming back to him. He had grown attuned enough to get some insight into its magical properties, and was immediately reminded of the creature it was made from. The strong and savage tsana, both powerful and bloodthirsty. And yet, he was catching wind of something odd within the item. ”Miro, I don’t suppose you were playing around with this item, wearing it, or anything like that, were you?” It was an odd question, and though he doubted Karash would believe him, the wizard told the truth. ”No, I haven’t, I just grabbed it off the shelf and took it to you.” The man looked slightly distraught. ”Alright, I believe you.”
The gauntlet had begun to reveal some of its history to the reader. This was a slow process that took chimes of further examination. There was a stain on the aura, a dark bloody one. The affection the item had gained for its owner was tarnished, smeared with blood. Karash assumed it to have gained an attraction towards those with “blood on their aura”. An aura like Miro’s own, soaked in death. Alvadas was not large into the killing type, and Karash had grown familiar enough with his customer’s presence. He thought it even possible that Miro may have even killed the man who owned it previously. ”Sorry that took so long, I am done with it. Before being delivered to me by a trusted partner, this item had only one previous owner. The man was a fierce competitor. A gladiator, in fact, in Alvadas’ own Akeldama Colosseum. It is a rare item, one which I believe to be cursed. Its previous owner was as powerful as he was bloodthirsty, and became somewhat of a legend in his time. Since then, his name has been lost, but his legacy lives on. The precious artifact of Alvad history before you is what is known as, ‘Final Peace’.”
The Eypharian cleared his throat and started in with the history. “For each great creature he would slay, the remains would be taken to a local crafter to be made into a new trophy for him. Eventually he grew to fame, donning armor and brandishing weapons made from his many victories. Every creature he met in battle fell to him, and eventually his entire body was covered, all but his right forearm. For his final battle, the operator of the Colosseum wrangled the most fierce creature anyone could see, and all of Alvadas came to watch him fight. With this last victory he would complete his armor and rise to the rank of champion. Finally free to live a life of fame and riches. He won the fight, but suffered a fatal blow. With only his will to complete the armor he dragged the creature by the tail to his armor craftsman. The man held onto life just long enough to see the completed product, the very gauntlet you see here. They say that with his armor complete and his dream realized that the sight of the gauntlet put his soul at peace. A relief so great that his soul found a peace so profound that it ascended to forever rest in the Ukalas.”
Miro was quite impressed by this tale, though the curious type he was, immediately he was stricken with burning desire to question. ”That is an amazing story. So, why didn’t they bury him with his gauntlet and complete his armor?” But Karash just glanced over to make eye contact for but a moment without wavering even slightly. ”That is the mystery, now isn’t it? I tend not to ask how these items come to the possession of the sellers, only the history. History is very important to me, you will find.” The curious undead had more questions, but one seemed of the most vital importance. ”And what exactly do you mean when you say you believe it to be cursed. That does not sound very appealing. I do hope something like that would warrant a discount.” Again the shopkeep held a slight tinge of annoyance in his tone. ”What I mean is, I believe this object to have, well, it may sound silly, well-” For dramatic effect a pause was held. When he spoke, there was a tinge of mysticism in his voice.”Magical powers.”
And at this, the customer was struck dumb, his eyes wide with lust. Karash read into this and grinned devilishly. ”You could call it a curse, or a charm, but I have heard of what it can do. They say it brings out all of the strength and bloodlust of the owner. That it took all of the drive and strength that drove him to become champion and absorbed it. And with the gauntlet absorbing all of his will and strength, he was finally able to die in absolute peace. I have reason to believe all of it, for this legend, if there ever was one, is true.” And with that the crafty salesman had sold the item and its false history. The wizard let out a excited ”wow” and placed one hand on the counter near the item. It was tempting to grab it, but he did not want to seem too desperate. ”Okay, I understand what you mean now. It is a very curious item, and I am interested in it. I would like to purchase it, but it better not cost me five hundred Miza this time!” With those words darkness seeped from his aura, and the keep scowled as he read the change.
”Easy kid, easy. Normally, this would fetch quite the price, but for you I will give a discount. It always touches my heart when somebody is just so taken with the history of an item. Normally it would cost three hundred Miza, but for you, I will only charge half. One-fifty, and it is yours. Since you seem to be drawn to each other, I want it to be yours. But first, you do have the letter I gave you, right?” Miro grinned and pulled it from under his cloak tucked into his sling. After flashing it for a moment, it was placed back in it. The man should have asked if he intended to deliver it, for the undead’s aura would have given away the lie he would tell. ”I have it, and I have the money you ask. I do hope that this curse does not bring me the same final peace.” Karash scoffed at this and rolled his eyes. ”I am sure someone like you can take care of themselves. I doubt that creature would have lasted long against you Miro.” And with that the coins were counted out, the long drawn out process that it was. The gauntlet was secured on hand and farewells were said. Of course the Eypharian tacked on a reminder to deliver his letter as well.
In some statement of irony or even fate Avain Manor appeared directly across from Divine Legacy. Miro took his new prizes and returned to his home. He had only a single day before he would depart, and still things to prepare. His empty home was lonely enough as it was. With him gone, for who knew how long, it would only grow dimmer. Someday he would return though, clear the dust away and rebuild this place. Make it better than it ever was. The wizard went to his room and placed his book in his backpack. The pack was on his bed, half full as it was. Funny how his valuable possessions were as few as this. Much of his clothing had been left in the closet, his training equipment, even most of his books would be left behind. Apart from his Glyphing supplies, Griever, Ionu’s Light, the Mask of Many, and clothes on his back, there was not much else to take. The sword cane remained securely attached to the pack, his staff strewn across the bed behind it, and the rest of his things inside of it. Now he had only to wait. He looked down at the gauntlet on his arm for a moment before placing it in the pack. ”The last item I will pack, the final piece.”
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Heart Void
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Heart Void
by Miro on May 26th, 2012, 6:16 am
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Miro - Not quite Nuit, just a little undead.
- Posts: 798
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- Joined roleplay: May 15th, 2011, 7:52 am
- Race: Nuit
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