Closed Leaving Sanity (Madeira, Jomi)

[Madeira Dusk]

Without Jomi, Madeira felt naked. Especially with the his warning ringing in her ears. Though she felt a little better as she closed the black stone of her silver ring, where a fresh portion of Jomi’s soulmist now lay. He could be halfway around the world and he would still be by her side. Or, more accurately, at the tips of her fingers.

It's almost sweet, how much he despise you, Ambrosia once said. And Madeira was just starting to understand what she meant. Through his snark and bitterness, Jomi was worried about her.

With the ghost out of the way, Roland strode closer. With his shoulders back and using every inch of his height, it was becoming more and more obvious that he was doing his best to intimidate her. She glared up at him.

"Now." he began, like he was steeling himself for something unpleasant. "Before you decided to drug me you were going to take me to an inn. So let's stop petching around here, and you can... you can..."

And suddenly the man was doubled over as if his muscled were excruciatingly cramped, or winded. It was such a change from his forced bravado that Madeira swayed on the spot with sudden mental whiplash. When he straightened up several ticks later, he did so slowly. His voice was ragged and he posture stooped as he asked after an inn again. He looked like he had aged forty years as he tried to stay standing.

"What happened?" she asked in alarm, though she did not step forward to help him.

He was not well. Was this a bad reaction to the Tonic? To the possession? She had not heard of anybody reacting like this to either, but the thought squirmed uncomfortably in her gut. She needed to take him to the Inn to rest. And, more importantly, he had vowed to stop lying and give her the truth. She could grill him with questions in private.

“This way, we'll find the inn and you can lie down", she motioned him forward with the hand laden with several gaudy rings.

She led him down the mirror street that seemed suspended in the sky, then took an immediate left down a street that seemed to have been transplanted from Falyndar, complete with thatched houses and creeping vines. They took another immediate left, and then another. It was a little ritual Madeira had picked up in childhood, to take a left at every corner. And while the pair should have looped themselves several times, in defiance of physics and common sense they emerged at a different street every time. Their progress was slow, now that they were both crippled, but Alvadas was kind. Within fifteen chimes the disconcertingly off-centred Cubacious Inn came into view.

Madeira led Roland inside and spoke to the front desk.

"Can we get a room please?"

"Just for the night?" the clerk asked brightly, raising a conspiratorial eyebrow. Somehow completely oblivious to the waves of pain emanating from Roland, the exhaustion from Madeira, and the arms-length mistrust that stretched between them.

word count: 515

[Roland Eir]

The walk felt perilously lengthy to Roland. For fifteen agonizing chimes he forced his legs to carry his body, just arms length from the woman who had had him possessed mere chimes ago. A string of quiet curses hissed between his gritted teeth. He barely noticed she guided them in a circle, but as it had earlier that morning it took them to a new street every time. This city was as confusing as it was magnificent, but Roland felt he was starting to get a feel for it. If only he'd been in a better state he would have loved to stop and look at the varied illusions, particularly the jungle. He had never seen such green in his life, even in the sea of grass. It was vibrant and beautiful, and the air smelled alive in a way he'd never experienced. But it only lasted the one block, and then they were back in Alvadas. Where the mysterious was becoming mundane one street at a time. Thankfully, by the time they found the inn the worst of his pain was over. His fingers splayed over his abdomen, rubbing at the aching muscles. He'd be feeling this for days. All he wanted to do now was sleep, though he doubted he'd be given the chance. The exchange with the innkeeper was mercifully quick. She introduced herself as Georgia as she handed over the key and directed them to where the room could be found. "It'll be up those stairs and on the far left. At least for tonight, we'll see where it ends up tomorrow morning! You two have fun, now." She gave a cunning wink as the pair turned away. In his current state the inference went way over Roland's head. He gave a mumbled thank you and dragged his feet over to the stocky stairway. With a mock-gentlemanly wave of his hand he let her go first and followed her up. Funnily enough, that feeling of familiarity returned. Something about following her up the stairs, her blonde hair... and then he finally had it. How many times had he chased his sister up the stairs at home, her tangled blonde hair bouncing on her shoulders? Those stairs had been old, rotting wood that creaked with every step. These stairs were solid, maintained, and lead to a very different place. As they walked the pastel-colored halls of the Cubacious Inn Roland was thinking only of the dirty little room at the top of the stairs at home. His whole family had shared that room. Until his sister betrayed him. They came to the room and entered. Roland pushed past Madeira wordlessly, throwing down his bag and flopping onto the bed. He felt even more tired than before, if that were possible, and already his eyelids were drooping. "I promised you answers. It's only fair I give them to you." Roland didn't believe in fair. Pushing his feet over the edge of the bed he forced himself up to a sitting position. His unruly hair fell into his eyes, and he lifted a hand to brush it away only to wince as the hairs fell across the open cut. "I don't suppose those questions could wait until tomorrow," Roland offered with little hope that she would accept. "After all, you know where to find me now." Not if she left him here, she wouldn't. If he had anything to say about it he'd disappear into the city before he told her a thing. There was little chance of that, however, and Roland had the feeling this was only the start of a long conversation. With his feet he dragged his fallen bag over to the bed, then dipped down to rummage through it. As she asked whatever questions she had he found an old, torn shirt and ripped a strip of fabric off. It would do for now. Using some water from his canteen he quickly washed the wound and the strip of shirt, then wrapped the ruined garment around the cut on his hand. "Have I mentioned yet that this isn't how I imagined this day would go?" Word Count: 692

[Madeira Dusk]

Madeira brushed past Roland in the wake of his mockingly polite insistence that she go first. With one hand on the crooked bannister and the other white around the head of her cane she levered herself up the stairs. The Inn was clean and cheerful, with the floor scrubbed within an inch of it's life and a low hum of voices in the air. At the indicated room Roland pushed past her, shouldered open the door and collapsed on the bed.

Madeira closed the door behind them. As he righted himself into a sitting position she pulled a chair out from under the desk in the corner and dragged it across from the bed.

"I don't suppose those questions could wait until tomorrow," Roland offered, "After all, you know where to find me now."

Madeira didn't answer him. She lowered herself into the chair, her movements stiff and ringing with a kind of stubborn finality. It was clear she was not getting up again until she had some satisfactory answers. She hooked her cane over the back, rearranged her skirts, and sat with her hands folded and her back straight. Even in situations like this she couldn't help looking like the world's most straight-laced little student.

She watched him clean his wound, and suddenly remembered she was bleeding too. Though by the rough, sticky feeling inside her long sleeve she was sure it had scabbed over by now. It would quickly become one more scar in her already mutilated wrists.

"Have I mentioned yet that this isn't how I imagined this day would go?" he mentioned almost absently as he washed and bandaged himself.

"I didn't either. I only approached you because my ghost that you were cute." she admitted with a strained laugh.

But now, as they sat facing each other, Madeira was suddenly lost for words. First there was finding out about his mysterious ties to magic, explaining the rules, then forcing the drugs on him. Now she had him pinned, in private, with his dubious promise to give her the truth, and she couldn't think of a thing to say.

She worked her tongue around her mouth, corralling her thoughts.

"You know what I am, so tell me what you are. What magic do you know? Personal magic, I suspect." she looked him over in a way that was a little less than flattering. Though knowing a personal magic herself, she had a rather low opinion of the craft as a whole. "You came all this way looking for Reimancers. Why?"

And understanding that she could not trust him, she dipped again unwisely into that secret pool of dijed. She let it settle on her tongue, and leave her body with her words.

“Do not lie to me.“

As soon as the power left her body, she knew something was wrong. There was a burning in her lungs that she had never experienced before. In a tick that burning turned to a fit of coughing. Doubled over, one hand to her mouth and another over her chest, she hacked herself to silence. As she straightened up again, dizzy from lack of air, she noticed tiny spots of blood in her palm. She closed her fist so he would not see.

[Roland Eir]

Her ghost thought he was cute? The little girl? Roland gave a breathy chuckle, wincing at the pain it caused. It had been a while since anyone had called him attractive--a combination of constantly moving and a generally disheveled appearance saw to that. Now a dead little girl decides she liked him out of nowhere? This city is petched up, Roland thought, putting the finishing touches on his bandage. It wasn't pretty, but hopefully he wouldn't get blood on the fresh sheets. Madeira sat in silence for some time. He met her pale blue eyes and arched his brows as if to say, "Well?" Like a hunting cat with its prey, she had him pinned. She could at least have the decency to make this quick. When she finally opened her mouth to ask questions, his thoughts turned immediately to what lies he could say to get out of this. How little could he give up? Would she notice if he lied again? He'd gotten away with it the first time. But the way she looked at him now, her brows drawn in disgust, he knew she wouldn't trust him lightly. The spiritist made it very clear what she wanted. "Do not lie to me." The words carried the weight of a threat to them, though her coughing fit quickly undermined it. Still... even as she was recovering Roland was grinding his teeth, deep in thought. He could just come clean. Maybe he should. Wouldn't it be nice to just let it all out for once. "You're sick," he said, buying some time to think. It wasn't a question. Roland leaned forward, elbows on his knees and rubbed his face. Gods, but he was tired. "Truth doesn't come easy to me, Maddy," he began, intentionally using the nickname she'd forbidden. "But you don't leave me a lot of options. And first off, I don't know who you are. I barely know anything about you, or your magic, which is fine by me. The dead are meant to stay dead. I don't care how cute they think I am, you keep your ghosts away from me witch." The word fell off his tongue before he could stop himself. His eyes plummeted to the floorboards. Witch. It was what he'd been called when they found out about his magic. His father. Roland coughed, ramming down the emotions that threatened to rise. He was over this. "And I don't know what you mean by personal magic. You might be right. What I do is called..." He hesitated, the words refusing to be spoken. He'd never told anyone. Not his mother, not his father, not his sister. Not one person in all his travels. Not that anyone would have listened. Do not lie to me. His blue eyes flashed with anger as they met hers once more. How dare she back him into a corner like this? "It's called The Flux. I channel djed into my body to make me stronger, and faster. And I'm looking for a Reimancer to learn from them. Obviously. Anything else you want to know?" The energy in the room rippled with a growing enmity between the two. They were polar opposites from one another. Her rail-straight back, prim clothing, and fair hair sharply contrasted with his hunched form covered in raggedy travel-clothes, his dark hair spilling into his bloodshot eyes. Their one common trait was a need to know more. Even with his vicious comments before he couldn't forget the electric feeling in the room when she'd summoned Jomi. Nor the respect the other patrons had given her. Roland couldn't help the kernel of envy that formed in his heart. Word Count: 615

[Madeira Dusk]

The Flux? The word had a foreign ring to it. She had never heard of the dicipline before. And here she thought he was a Reimancer looking for a teacher! His explanation of the Flux left a lot to be desired, but it's words etched themselves into her brain.

It's called The Flux. I channel djed into my body to make me stronger, and faster.

He augments his body with dijed, by somehow feeding the energy of his soul into his body. Madeira's eyes were alight with wonder. That was a magic for warriors, and others who depended on their body. But like all personal magic it likely came with a terrible cost. And this man could not have had any formal training or instruction if he didn't even know the difference between personal and world magic. Maybe it was some tiny part of her that cared for a fellow human's well being that prompted her to fill in this terrible gap in his education. Or maybe she couldn't help but flaunt her privilege and schooling in his face. Either way she found herself answering a question he didn't even ask.

"Personal magic", she began, as if reciting from a book. "is magic fueled by the user's own Djed. The wizard transforms a part of their own essence in return for a supernatural effect." Her hands lifted from her lap to hoovered in front of her body, moving with half formed gestures as she struggled to explain what any magic user should already know. "It's a kind of magic that doesn't require tools and has an immidiate effect without too much preperation. It's also one of the most dangerous. Djed comes from the soul. If you use too much at one time you could destroy yourself." It was a self-centered magic for risk takers and those with no self control. Her own uncle Frode had been bleating the risks of the personal magic he had dabbled in in his youth for as long as she could remember.

"My magic, Spiritism, is a world magic. It's about crafting and lore. You exploit the magic around you for power instead of risking your own soul." In many ways it was far less powerful and far less consistent than personal magic. Many people were surprised to discover that a Spiritist had very little magic of their own; the practise was about willpower and endurance and the ability to lie. She remembered explaining exorcism to Maro, and how there was no incantation or special tool that could send a soul to Dira. You had to look each ghost in the eye and convince it to commit suicide.

She had more questions. A thousand more questions. But her body was exasuted and her emotions spent. A pulsing headache, no bigger than a kernel of corn, was rising behind her eyes and her mouth tatsed of metal. She was sick. But worse than that, she might have overgiven for the second time in her life. She needed to go home before she caused herself more damage.

A mutual enmity between the two was choking the air from the cheery little room. Madeira got laboriously to her feet and wobbled unsteadily.

"There's nothing else I want from you." Go live your life that I've just saved and keep it far away from me. She was ready to leave and he would not be sad to see her go. She had just reached the door, one pale hand on the handle, when she paused. The Spiritist seemed to struggle internally for a second before she looked over her shoulder.

"There is an Isur called Terag who works in Kitrean Krafts. He might know something about what you're looking for." she said as casually as she could manage. She didn't know what the Reimancer would think of her sending fellow magic users his way. He was just as knowlege hungry as her, however. She couldn't help but think that if anyone would appreciate learning about another personal magic, it was him. "He is a better man than you, Roland. I swear to Ionu if you make trouble for him with your flapping mouth I'll have pretty little Emma sew it shut with your own hands."

The threat was empty, of course. Emma had enough trouble controlling cats; strong-willed Roland would be way too much for her. But the words still hung in the air, satisfyingly heavy. Madeira remembered the angry puckered initiation scars on the palms of the Isur's hands. She hoped Roland's introduction into Reimancy would be just as painful.

She pulled the door open. And without a backwards glace the woman with perfect posture and a skeletal face left with a swish of skirts and the heavy drag of a paralyzed leg.

[Roland Eir]

Roland stood as she did, his head spinning from everything he'd learned. Or maybe it was the pain. "That's it?" he growled as she walked to the door. He was steaming, furious that she thought he needed schooling. He didn't need her fancy terms for magic. As if he hadn't seen the fascination in her eyes when he'd told her about his! She stopped at the door, giving him one last piece of free information: Terag. And just like that she was gone. The door swung shut with a soft clunk, eclipsing her from view. Roland bit his cheek until he tasted blood. Who does she think she is? She just walked away, as if nothing was wrong, after a day like that? And why would she give him what he wanted? Unless Terag was a trap. Or she planned to come back and kill him later anyway. After all, no one gave away secrets like that without a price. After triple checking the door was locked Roland stumbled back to the bed, kicked off his boots, and shoved himself beneath the covers. His head hurt nearly as much as his body did now, and it was all thanks to that petching woman. He stewed in his paranoia and anger the rest of the day, slipping in and out of a restless sleep. He had every reason in the world to leave this city, but she'd given him one. One good lead. And that would be enough.

[Madeira Dusk]

Grades Awarded!

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Roland Eir

Skills

• Observation: 5xp
• Logic: 5xp
• Socialization: 4xp
• Flux: 2xp
• Rhetoric: 3xp
• Investigation: 2xp
• Subterfuge: 2xp
• Spiritism: 1xp
• Negotiation: 2xp
• Persuasion: 2xp
• Intimidation: 1xp
• Endurance: 2xp
• Medicine: 1xp

Lores

• Alvadas: changing locations
• Madeira: magic user
• Lore of meeting a ghost
• Location: the Unnayme
• Lore of Ionu
• Spiritism: invoking
• Jomi: a ghost
• Jomi: Madeira’s servant
• Medicine: wound dressing
• Terag: a Reimancer

Awards & Retribution


Notes

Madeira Craven

Skills

• Observation: 5xp
• Rhetoric: 3xp
• Spiritism: 4xp
• Persuasion: 3xp
• Socialization: 3xp
• Hypnotism: 2xp
• Intimidation: 3xp
• Negotiation: 2xp
• Teaching: 3xp
• Investigation: 1xp
• Leadership: 1xp

Lores

• Lore of spotting a foreigner in Alvadas
• Roland: dislikes strangers
• Spiritism: trapping a possessing ghost
• Roland: from Sunberth
• Roland: a mage
• Lore of the basics of Flux

Awards & Retribution
-10gm, Newcomers Tonic

Notes

Jomi

Skills

• Possession: 2xp
• Socialization: 2xp
• Materialization: 3xp

Lores

• Fragile minds make for easy possession

Awards & Retribution


Notes