Dipping The Quill - A Beginning

[Clarion Voss]

Talking to this servant after midnight about entering a private mansion was not high on the white haired man's to do list. He rather check off breaking and entering, in the hopes of at least raising the crime rate in Zeltiva. Voss searched along it's fifteen foot high iron walls for a gate the doorman would use to take home in the morning rather then guard. Finding none open he would pause in a quiet location, cough, not blush and then raise his hands out in front of himself with a wink.

"Immovable Object, meet your Irresistible Force."

Releasing the powerful djed that had been burrowing it's way into his skull, Clarion carefully projected the res knuckle downward, erupting out from his fingertips into a well directed gale of wind. Focusing his stray thoughts into a woven tapestry of intent, the mage sought to lift his entire body up into the sky upon the force of it's element and hover over the doubting wall. The surrounding air would be used to blanket his body, preserving the height and uphold his moving position.

[Liminal]

The gates were all fastened shut, iron locks bolted securely. Quiet locations along the fence, however, were easy enough to find. The perimeter didn't seem to be guarded, and there were no passers-by to worry about.

The spell was cast, and the Ethaefal was pushed upward off the ground. Jacquelyn gasped, and then gave a quiet laugh.

"Ah, you're never one to do things the easy way, Clarion. You're a bit adventurous for my taste, but I wish you the best of luck in finding what you seek." There was a smile on her face, though it was clear that she would not follow within the walls of the compound.

All was draped in shadows inside. There was a lawn, dotted with bushes, that led up to the manor house. Only one window, high on the third story, was lit. Beyond that were vaguely-glimpsed trees and the silhouette of the tower, piercing the sky. It was perfectly quiet, and the air was calm.

[Clarion Voss]

The man looked to the woman and tilted his head, fingers round the iron bars as his silent consent was given in turn. Entering into the fever of night, Voss gripped his robes while the elation of res dissipated from under folds of skin, crushing the green grass quietly beneath his sandals.
The tower ruins loomed overhead, pulling Clarion like a hurricane into the ominous black eye of the storm. It's mystery bled like temptation, as whispers of shrill winds guided and amplified emotions, hopes and a wash of fears. What would this monument hold within it's walls but also awaken deep within his own cage of ribs and murder. Flashes of red palms, seething and dripping like unwashed tears. Blood. Walls of it. Unholy Violence.

Then it was gone. Gone again.. Into the quiet night of a city that turned in it's sleep. The solitary noise of crickets and vague echoes eased the mage's breathe and thoughts. He was in Zeltiva... There was no sword slits across his chest, purple stains and white toga. No smashed pottery. No Lightning. No birds claws or shrieking women. He was once more a creature like any other. Aged. Infirmed. Tired.
Clarion wrinkled his gaunt face, squinting into this void, unsure whether to consciously invoke the heavy dreams or rely on the sanity of his own sound mind for safety. He pressed onward.

[Liminal]

Nothing happened to disturb the quiet. Clarion was able to move easily across the grassy lawn, stepping in and out of the half-shadows formed by the moonlight and the ever-more-distant lights of the street. There was no motion at all from the house.

As Clarion rounded the corner of the building, the tower came into full view. It was connected to the rest of the house by what looked to be a narrow covered hallway, dotted with open archways. The only entrance to the tower, a massive wooden door dimly lit by reflected moonlight, was at the end of this hallway. It appeared that there might be windows further up, but they were much further up, and it was hard to tell whether or not they were covered.

There was no guard here, no porter or hound or sentry. Indeed, the place had an atmosphere of not being used very much. Bits of stone were scattered around, seemingly left from when the tower had been partially ruined some five centuries earlier.

[Clarion Voss]

Voss brushed aside the brute thoughts and dense musings of his mind. Like a blind fool plagued by crows, these visions were eating at his concentration as if his skull had the top cut straight out. Leaning against a wall of shadows, the ancient wanted to be certain the area was clear before stepping into the breach of exposed space. He gripped his robes up above the knees with the left fist, bunching them up to avoid contact with the ground and give both feet free access to carry on.
Arriving at the door, the mage rested his pliant fingers against it, as if to sense it's aura or by some press of weight allow himself passage. Should the area be tightly locked down there was one more move his coiled limbs would make. Clarion's white features closed inward, sensing and drawing forth a tinkering flutter of magic. Tremors of persistence sprouted from his veins, but the mage continued.. looking for a breach wide enough for his res to spill through and contort it's surrounding breathe to his own whim.
Using air and tempered concentration Voss wished to touch the pins to the door hinges, squeezing the passage of wind like a bellows to pop the offending metal cylinders from their casing. It was his ignorant dream that the lock would hold the door in place enough to both allow him passage from the opposite end and prevent an immediate fall of wood to stone. Buffering the call of gravity with the force of his will, the old man intended to sneak in and then brace the open entrance in some delicate or truly reckless fashion.

[Liminal]

The door was indeed secured. No one saw Clarion approach -- but on the other hand, it seemed that he was going to have difficulty in approaching much further.

As Clarion attempted to force the door open, he met with an odd sort of resistance. It was as if the door had somehow been sealed, leaving behind no chink or crevice through which to enter. It was a solid shield, held in place by unknown forces, and it defeated the mage's best efforts. If he was going to enter the tower, this would not be the way.

The silence of the night settled around him. Even the wind seemed to have died, leaving nothing in its place but an eerie stillness. Any noise from the street was completely muffled, and there was nothing, not an owl or a bat or even a cricket, that pierced the preternatural quiet.

[Clarion Voss]

The magic intrigued him instinctively and how could it not. Deeply hidden secrets had to be coaxed slow, for a perfect ending to a tale was built on the willingness of the protagonist to explore it's mysteries one by one, conquering each challenge or negating their effect. A barrier to a bard was more then a physical impasse.. it was a symbol, an alegory for the unknown even within the self, a forging of the "Prince" into a hero worthy of his loving goal. Either that or really just a door to keep out damnably curious mages like himself.

Clarion tested it's aura, slowly guiding his djed to embrace each color like a warm note. Exploring the variety and precision of the barrier, searching for a magical imprint, some way of detecting it's history, the passage of time and maker. What would motivate such an excessive and tailored use of power.. and if truly an untouchable enigma why hadn't he or the regent sensed it's presence before? Surely the counsel regulated such uses, for a rich dowry of reasons.

Voss knew his own ability to perceive auras was at a fraction of what it should be. His weakness felt like a splinter within the mind's eye; as if rebirth was little more then a hindrance instead of a wonderful gift. Never the less he searched, pried away at the cosmic layers using what remains he had. Should the inspection turn up a healthy headache, his first alternative was to shake off focus and rebalance his use of wild magic, walking round the surface of the tower. He would callously squint up at the high grazed windows, imagining a trail of long beautiful hair laid out like a fairy's tail, flowing down to help her champion upward. Then there would be a wicked witch waiting instead of a buxom maiden, so Voss grimaced while settling for a subtle spark of ingenuity.
Every gate had a weakness, a neglected thorn on the rose's stem. Was there a cave in the wall that a clever Ethaefal could use to his advantage? If not, tobacco would help him think.

[Liminal]

It was hard, even with effort, to tell very much about the magic blocking the door. One thing was clear, however -- it was old. Older than the current owner of the property, and perhaps even older than the Valterrian. Perhaps this was why the Board of Regents and the Administrative Council hadn't said anything. But at any rate, it would take a mage of a skill far greater than Clarion's to dissolve it.

But what of the windows? Clarion was soon to find out, as he began his magically-enhanced ascent. It became clear as he rose that there was no other way a human would be able to scale the walls -- they were impossibly sheer, with the stones fitted together so closely as to admit not so much as a fingerhold. Such workmanship was rare to nonexistent in the world today; it far exceeded even that of the University's post-Valterrian buildings.

Some two hundred feet up, Clarion reached the first window. It was small, though Clarion would be able to fit through it. There was a loose wooden shutter over it, fastened none-too-carefully from the inside. No light seeped around it; the interior seemed to be quite dark. The magical barrier that barred the door seemed not to be present here.