Closed Your Move, Grossmeister

[Evarista]

13th of Spring, 518 A.V. If there was one capacity that Evarista didn't want to lose, it was the capacity to be surprised. Years and years of the nightly eavesdropping routine has reduced that capacity all too much. Dangling in a comfortable silk hammock outside of Olcott's shuttered window, Evarista half-dozed to the soothingly charismatic sound of his voice as he explained something to Bryony. Probably something of clandestine nature, but she wasn't actually listening, letting the words blur together into a background drone. After all, she's heard it all before. She just felt comfortable being here, where she could see and hear others, but others couldn't see and hear her. Just as when she was about to fall asleep completely, the sound of another voice sent a jolt through her, purging every trace of sleep. A decidedly familiar baritone with a certain edge to it. An edge straight out of a different world that was not welcome at the estate. The scarred face of the voice's owner popped into her mind, unbidden. This was not the time. This was not the place. Attempting to focus her sluggish senses, the eccentric heir frowned from the sudden disturbance and adjusted her position in the hammock awkwardly; too restless to stay still but too lazy to sit up. The flickering candlelight seeping out between the shutters felt like it was teasing her. In the room, the pair seemed to already have adopted a casually business-like atmosphere. After the practicedly brief exchange of pleasantries, the conversation was about to get to the point. "Mr. Caldera..." Olcott began, his voice smooth against the background of a pen scratching against parchment. The pause was held a bit longer than usual. Olcott usually addressed stryfers by their titles, but calling the man in front of him an apprentice seemed unbecoming. Lifting the tip of the pen from the parchment slightly, he looked up at his guest and continued. "One of our more... delicate entrepreneurs is quite late on his big delivery." The enigmatic butler added a finishing touch to something on the parchment and planted the pen in the inkwell with a light motion. He then slid the parchment across the table. "I think he needs a reminder." The parchment rustled quietly in the background as the pair exchanged a few more vague and cryptic lines before the guest promptly got up and left, presumably bringing the document along. On the other side of the shutters, Evarista was basically spinning in her hammock with impatience. The old bastard was doubtlessly used to the fact that walls had ears and directed the conversation accordingly. Commercial dirty games were ubiquitous here and normally didn't interest the detached girl, but considering who was involved, she couldn't ignore it. Bullying contractors was mercenary work, not soldier work. Then again, there was no proof that Elias Caldera was just a soldier. Or that this was a case of plain old contractor bullying. By the time the stryfer's beshadowed silhouette slipped out of the back entrance, the eavesdropper was already on the roof, decked out with her formidable stalking gear. She hasn't seen enough, and the night was still young. *** A rude bump brought her back to consciousness, accompanied by dulled lights and voices from somewhere above. She realized that she'd fallen asleep, secretly attached to the underside of the water glider. The darkness and steady flow of water through her body made her sink into an oddly pleasant meditative state, and since the ride took a while, eventually sink into slumber. What a bad time to sleep, though. Unlatching from the bottom of the glider groggily, Evarista swam a bit away from the illuminated pier and climbed up on land. The aberrant plates and tendrils congealed into a blouse, skirt and shoes. Adjusting her surprisingly dry hair, the dastardly stowaway hurried back to the pier so as not to lose track of her objective. When she came closer to the pier, which rested in a lantern-lit spotlight on the pitch-dark beach, there was nobody but a pair chatting sailors. Elias was nowhere to be seen. Realising this, the amateur spy froze in place, fighting back the sharp pang of anxiety. Maybe spending precious time on making herself decent, when she was supposed to stay hidden anyway, was not the smartest move. So what now? Evarista's eyes darted between the empty glider and the only other patch of light in range - the outpost tower. There's only one road, so there's only one direction where he could have gone. He was looking for a person who probably didn't want to be found, and the open beach was not a viable hiding spot. But... After a few moments of painful hesitation, the clumsy stalker darted up the hill towards the outpost, purposefully keeping away from the lanterns. Darkness was no hindrance to her, so there was no reason not to stay as deep in it as possible. Just in case. Up on the hill, she was met with an expected sight. The trading post was asleep. There was no light leaking from any crevice. No, conventional means wouldn't work here. She'd never find him like this. How else? What other ways did she have? Scent? While never having used scent to find anyone, it made perfect sense. Of course, the real identified wouldn't be the scent itself, but the auristic information it carried. Amplifying her olfactory senses and trying to ignore the unwelcome side effects, she inhaled deeply and made a reading of the latest human trail. Surely enough, she was reached by a familiar emanation. Having studied Elias' aura before, she could recognise it without effort. He was definitely here, but recognising the direction he went next was another matter. After a while of fumbling around the hill, she eventually found a pattern in how the reading was getting stronger and weaker, and followed it without overanalyzing. Down the hill, climbing over rocks, through a hedge... over a dead horse? Odd. A fair bit from the main path was a horse carcass, with a broken leg, as if someone foolishly tried to ride a horse down the steep side of the hill. Fresh, judging by the scent. Suspicious, but nothing she could stop to study. Having climbed over a few more precarious rocks, forced her way through some brambles and getting her feet firmly stuck in the mud at least three times, the dirt- and thorn-covered sleuth was presented with a wooden door, snugly placed in an indent right in the rocky side of the outpost hill. There were no paths leading to it, and the door placed at angle not visible neither from the outpost nor from the trader village, and not even from the docks, but conversely, this little platform provided a good view of all three. Extremely suspicious. Judging from the scent, Elias was definitely behind that door... together with someone else. Was this the "entrepreneur"? Awfully crafty for an honest merchant to have such a hideout. She approached the door tentatively. The auras beyond it didn't belong to just two people. There were two human auras, and something powerful radiating in the background. Magic. And not just any magic, but magic being performed right now. Too many questions, and the answers didn't come fast enough. Evarista was tired, irritated, and very impatient, which gave her a certain inclination for recklessness. So she did the least intelligent thing she could do: she opened the door and stepped inside.

[Elias Caldera]

Elias tensed, his cold eyes narrowing as a hand hesitantly fell to the hilt of his blade.

Something was… coming.

Something vile, and wretched, and all together wrong in every sense of the word. Something that was hard to explain, yet he could feel it like oil under his skin, slithering and oozing, corrupting like a sickness. A sickness that was steadily creeping closer and closer with every passing tick he dawdled upon trying to discern its-

The door began to creak, and the mage went rigid. Slowly, cautiously, the decrepit and disguised hunk of old wood that served as the only entrance to the den was pushed open, and that ‘something’ began to enter. The Caldera was glad for his years combat training in that moment. It helped a great deal in fighting back the grasping claws of fear that tried so desperately to latch unto his heart and sink his nerves. That calm that only a warrior knew before the break of battle served to keep his hands steady as he unsheathed his blade and readied his magic for whatever horrible beast came crawling into the grotto. It must have been some kind of stray creature birthed from the dark places of the wilds by the monstrous impression even just the hint of its aura was giving off. A beast of unspeakable depravity and noxious-

Oh no.

Recognition came like a void portal torn in open in the pits of stomach.

This was no monster… it was worse. It was-

“Evarista!”

The swordsman hissed through clenched teeth, his tone low and frantic as he abandoned his blade and instead threw up a halting hand to impede the pale girl’s entrance. It was too late though, she’d already taken one step too many to turn back now.

“Hmmm, w-what is that racket? Hirem, I told you I was not to be disturbed! Who is there? Who comes to my door?”

The words echoed throughout the small cave with a resounding air of impetuous imperiousness even despite the half asleep timbre of the voice that uttered it. As the man at the other end of the dimly lit cavern partially turned ever so slightly to peer over his shoulder at the uninvited guest, Eva would notice how low his eyelids hung, how dropping and sluggish his features were. Half asleep may have been giving him too much credit, but not entirely misleading.

His name was Baltazar Black, archon and author of the arcane arts, magister of the mystical and the magical, sorcerer both supreme and sublime, imperator exemplary of the- the list went on and on like that for some time and the Ravokian had forgotten much of it since he’d been first forced to memorize it all for the sake of his ruse. Baltazar -which was obviously an alias, it had to be- stood hunched over a desk at the far end of the cave opposite Elias and the heiress. His posture was lackadaisical for lack of a better word, and seemed in grand contrast to the airs he gave off, even in his strangely addled state.

He was a young man, perhaps in his late twenties at most, deeply tan of skin and svelte of posture. Upon his lips twitched a finely combed and wispy mustache that had been drenched in as much fragrant oils and preservatives as his slicked back ebony hair. The sides of his head had been shaven down in a styled manner, but on top still held enough length to flow over his neck and down below his shoulder in disheveled raven black streaks. His eyes were an uncanny shade of silver and gray that threatened to condemn one to staring in awe had they not been half encapsulated and hidden in their drowsiness. Jewelry adorned almost every inch of the man, gaudy and expensive to the alst. His clothing also bore the trademark of money and prestige, made of rich flowing fabrics that served little purpose other than displaying the wealth of the one who strode about in them. Though there, a story in of itself could be told. Tears in the cloth were apparent, and stains of mud and broken foliage marred the once pristine silks, telling a tale of things gone awry. Tinges of blood had also left their mark, and it was clear by the reddened scratches on his arms and neck that Baltazar had likely been stumbling through the wilderness in a mad dash.

He was Ethaefal, as Elias had learned. A surprising discovery given the fact that the soldier had rarely ever beheld one of their divine kind without the jangling of slave chains heralding their approach. Yet, somehow Baltazar had not only made Rhysol’s domain his home as a free man, he’d even gone so far as to have thrived amidst Ravokian society at one point. No doubt in part thanks to his abilities as a mage. The only thing more overbearing than his arrogance had been his immense propensity towards magic. The man radiated power like a bonfire in the night, and it was hard to ignore. A testament to his prominence and power… and to the gravity of the woes that saw him fallen so far.

Elias had tracked the wizard from the shoreline, following that flame of his arcane aura amidst the darkness. Driven from Ravok and forced to flee, Balatazar had purchased a horse in his haste and rode the thing half to death getting here. The other half had come when the poor creature had caught its leg in a sinkhole that had snapped it like a twig. He hoped the man had done the proper thing and ended the creature before he abandoned it to the voracity of the wilds, but something told him the animal hadn’t been so lucky.

From there, it had been a simple matter of following the scattered remnants of Baltazar’s carelessly cobbled together belongings the terrified fool had dropped in his stupor. A scroll here, a dowsing rod there, Elias gathered them up one by one as he trudged through the forest in nonplussed pursuit of his prey. The summoner had been frightened, and rightfully so. The wrath of the Nitrozians wasn’t something so easily escaped, especially not when they unleashed the likes of the Ebonstryfe upon their victims. Baltazar had failed them, his benefactors, and the price of his failure had been tantamount to the prestige and adoration their backing had afforded him in Ravok; steep.

Something Elias himself was now keenly reminded of.

Smartly, he’d run. Not so smartly, he apparently hadn’t planned much further ahead that that. By the time the Caldera had found this place not too far from the lakeshore outpost, the refined arcanist was on verge of collapse, teetering upon unconsciousness after his grueling trek through the trees and up the small but dangerously precipitous cliff face to get… here. Elias mused it had likely been a respit once upon a time, for hunters straying far from home when Ravok was still in its infancy, then smugglers later on when she’d matured enough to garner the likes of such men’s attention.

It was small, true, but whoever had originally settled this place had clearly meant it to be a home away from home. Instead of dirt and cave moss lining walls, planks of wood made up the floor, and even a few support beams created a homey -if not rotted and termite ridden- feel to the place. Ancient tables, chairs and even a fading fireplace littered the den, there was even a run down old bed to boot, and Baltazar had wasted no time on unpacking the lab he’d fled with on his back unto whatever could sustain the weight of so many beakers and scrolls and magical doo-dads that not even Elias could recognize all of. Now, it seemed, the hideout had become the impoverished sanctuary of an exiled sorcerer of all things.

What the stories this place must hold...

Baltazar’s story had nearly ended then and there when the hunter loosed upon him had discovered his retreat, and through his auristics, could see the man toiling desperately to establish a number of glyphs across the entrance of the den. So haggard with fatigue was he, that it had been simple child’s play to entice his mind into slumber with just a few hypnotic suggestions unleashed from the other side the door. Since then, Elias had been making himself at home, not just in the hideout, but in Baltazar’s mind as well. He’d been hammering away at the summoner’s thoughts for the better part of a bell now, inducing a trance and building a world for the other mage to scamper around in like a rat in a cage. A great deal of work had gone into staging all this, and it was all about to come undone thanks to one the infuriatingly unpredictable nature of one little spoiled-

“Hirem!”

Exasperated, the Caldera turned back to Balthazar, then again to Eva, caught in between the two and growing increasingly frustrated as he was reminded he’d been asked a question. “Eh, its nothing, master.” The scarred killer responded over his shoulder as he locked eyes with the heiress once more. His voice was strange, a hint of an accent on his tongue and a weak, subservience behind his intonation. “Just more uh… more students, come begging for your tutelage, oh magnificent one.” His fingers made a gesture for the pale girl to follow them where he pointed even as he spoke, and as his icy gaze wandered to the ceiling of the cave directly above her head, she’d notice the glyph staring back down at her. Amateurish in design though none the less threatening for it, it spread over the entrance like a massive black spider in waiting. From its spindly center, a number of lines split off, trailing from the ceiling to the wall, and as Elias slowly pointed it out, to the very spot the Nitrozian’s foot had planted itself.

She was standing on a booby trap.

A wave of fresh hypnotic energy flowed towards the Ethafeal, surging through his already mangled thoughts and setting a notion of impatience and the necessity for lack of distraction. “Well send them away!” Baltazar half barked, half murmured after a tick. Impatiently, the dazed summoner returned to his work, and under his breath mumbled “My work can't be interrupted...”

Elias, noticing with a breath of relief that his trance was still intact, took a hesitant step towards the Nitrozian. Balthazar may have been a barely competent glypher, but any aurist with half an eye open could feel just how powerful he was with his reimancy. Whatever magical malevolence he’d left swirling inside that trap the heiress had stepped on was not something either Eva or her bodyguard would want to find out.

Placing a finger over his lips to make sure she understood the need for quiet, Elias lowered himself to one knee before her, taking her leg in his hand to steady it. He hadn’t paid the thing much mind after he’d caught Black hastily trying to scribble it upon the cave floor with a half spilled pot of enchanting ink, but now the situation had changed. It was simple in design really. Upon the ceiling was where the magic waited, eager to be unleashed and devour whatever poor bastard disturbed the markings on the floor. The moment Eva removed her foot, she'd interrupt the sigils and send a signal to the ceiling, more than likely ending both of their lives in a horrifyingly painful instant.

“Don't. Move.” His words were barely even a whisper as his scrutiny engaged the runes. This was going to be tricky, he groaned inwardly. Petch.


Angrily, and with a hand still brazenly wrapped around her calf, the stryfer glared up at the pampered girl outfitted in her strange attire, the niceties and practiced pleasantries gone from their usual commerce of words as he addressed her plainly. "What are you doing here!" He already knew the answer of course, and he already knew he wasn’t going to like it.

[Evarista]

Judging by her quick auristic reading, the half-expected the compartment beyond the door to be some mad wizard's lair. And she was half-right. The odd exchange between Elias and the voice she presumed belonged to the irresponsible entrepreneur was slightly odd, but the startling array of magical disciplines mixed thickly in the air somehow made nothing seem surprising. When wizards were in gear, the logic of things changed. She watched with mild curiosity as he stepped towards her, bent down... and firmly grabbed her calf, following up with an irritated command. A most unusual greeting gesture. Was this also part of his ingenious plan? Judging by the look on his face, Evarista Nitrozian gate-crashing this carefully arranged place of power was probably not part of the plan. So why was she here? Staring down at the kneeling man with the usual blankness, she scratched the back of her head slowly. Hmmm, she thought. "Hmmm," she said. He certainly wasn't shy to ask the difficult questions. Then when her gaze fell to the markings on the floor, she understood the cause of his strangely hands-on welcome. The magic she noticed from outside was not only being performed, it was also plastered all over the floor and ceiling. How wizardly. No true secret lair would have gone without some flavorful glyphs, although her past experiences with glyphs were less than charming. Eyes rising to the ceiling, she casually examined the angry-looking and rather unambiguous auristic radiation emanating from the glyph there. Reimancy of the... shocking sort? Although she couldn't read the glyphs themselves, the energies contained in them were certainly very familiar. She'd even dare to say that she was on friendly terms with them. Granted, looking at the stressed-out stryfer trying think of a solution was its own bonanza of entertainment. His almost painful grip on her calf announced clearly that he didn't trust her not to kill herself. The sentiment was touching, but as the warmth of his hand began to seep through her skin, she realized it was also a bit more male attention than she could handle all at once. So to spare him further headache, and her further embarrassment, she decided to send the dangerous energies the way these energies travel. A long spike from the bottom of the fake shoe on her free foot slowly wedged its way through the rotten plank beneath it and drove into the rocky ground below. The nature-defying preparation going on inside of her body was mercifully concealed from him, although he'd could see it in her aura if he looked. If nothing else, it was a clear signal that the was about to do something. Statistically speaking, probably something bad. The worst part was that Elias wouldn't get a chance to stop it. Without warning, Evarista abruptly jerked her leg out of his grasp. Or so she thought. His grip was far too strong for her to pull away. The only thing that happened was the front of her shoe carving an unfortunate arc across the glyph on the floor, and in the same instant the ceiling lit up. It was like a channel to the realm of the gods had opened above Evarista and dropped a massive bolt of lightning on top of her head. For an instant, the cavern was filled with searing light that drowning out all vision, and the thunderclap that followed felt like it made the whole cliff vibrate. The glyph's aura didn't lie - there was enough power to instantly carbonize your average human. The flash and bang faded as fast as they struck, leaving both Elias and Evarista... intact, still frozen in their silly pose. The air filled with menacing crackle, reverberating through the cavern loudly, stinging their skin with countless needles; intensely uncomfortable but ultimately harmless. A faint smell of burnt permeated the air, though it was unclear where exactly it came from. Evarista's long mane rapidly split into strands that were bizarrely sent floating in the air at various altitudes around her. The same floating behavior also beset her skirt, but her hand was fast enough to deflect this assault of cosmic rules on her modesty. "Uh..." the dishevelled heiress hummed quietly after an awkward pause, amidst the still-crackling air. "Is there any whisky here...?" Her eyes wandered about the decayed scraps of furniture absent-mindedly. It looked like there hasn't been any alcohol served here in a long time. And that was a problem. She was way too sober for this nonsense. Echoing weakly from the deeper part of the cavern, the fancy mage's tenor showed palpable irritation. "Stupid apprentices... playing with my shipment of Ivak's fire, no doubt. L-Leave those things be and get over here! I n-need some... something." By his wavering tone it was clear that the commotion at the entrance almost made him lose his concentration on his excruciatingly delicate task. While Evarista and Elias did what they do best, apparently the failed entrepreneur was going for a second attempt to get the business running. Considering the new company he was stuck with, it was going to be no less challenging than last time.

[Elias Caldera]

Silently, pensively, the Caldera’s mind raced with possibilities and plans. The trap was sprung, but not yet unleashed. If he could just… create his own set of runes… and use it to capture the magical assault as it was unfurled from the release sigil, then perhaps- Something interrupted his buzzing thoughts, and agitatedly, Elias looked up to see Eva stirring within his grasp. “I said don’t move. This could kill us both if were not careful.” The heiress looked at him thoughtfully for a tic, then continued to stir. “I mean it, Evarista. This is dangerous!” The stirring intensified and Elias was finding his frustrations slowly becoming overwhelmed with a sense of foreboding. “Eva-!” but before the stryfer could elicit the yelp, the girl was gone, skipping away from the glyph and dragging her hopeless warden with her. In an instant the cave was illuminated in a white hot radiant explosion of lighting so intense it stole the sight from the soldier’s eyes and even robbed him of his sense of up from down.

Panicked and flailing, the Caldera’s hands floundered in helpless confusion, his mouth agape in a silent scream caught halfway up his throat as he awaited Dira’s terrible embrace to sweep him away. Oh gods, He thought in his final, agonizing moments what a way to go…

It took a moment of course, a strange, perplexingly awkward moment, but eventually the young man realized he wasn’t quite as dead as he may have first believed. As the haze lifted from his vision and the world around him began to take on more details that just the fuzzy dark shapes they’d been reduced to in the lightning’s wake, Elias realized he was very much alive… and so was Eva, her dark hair now a ludicrous crown of floating tendrils as she stared dimly down at him.

This… what… she?!

The stryfer surged to his feet, a sickening concoction of rage and malice and stung pride contorting his face into a gnarled and terrifying thing directed solely at the pale Nitrozian. A finger, gloved and threatening, stabbed at her with all the fury of a sword stroke. He had said ‘don’t move!’ He had made it clear as day! And what had she done? What was the first thing she had bloody well done!? He was about explode at the girl, about to scream and rant and rave at her until she was a cowering pool of frayed nerves and whimpered apologies at his feet, yet despite the festering furor burning away in his chest, Elias lingered for perhaps a moment too long, his finger hovering in place and his twisted expression frozen as if he were waiting on a portrait maker to begin painting his likeness.

He’d made the mistake of looking into those deceptively vacant blue eyes, of reminding himself just who it was he was about to erupt upon, and he found his frenzy faltering. It wasn’t fear or respect that saw him hesitate, but something more along the lines of empathy. “…You moved.” A weak accusation, practically just a statement of facts. it was all the soldier could work up to in the end as his hand fell limp at his side and his rage dissipated with a beleaguered growl. He understood this blooded noble, this very strange girl, far too much to remain angry at her for long it seemed. How could he, when he knew full well she could hardly help herself.

With a bedeviled sigh, Elias rubbed at his face partly in dismay and partly in bewilderment. The air felt heavy for some reason, and his nose stung with the smell of smoke. Where once the two of them had been trapped in the glyph’s web, now remained only a blackened spot upon the ground, still hot and bristling with unseen energy. He had no idea how they had survived or what it was Eva had done to escape such a blast, but he supposed it was just better that way. Trying to understand the Nitrozian’s whims, let alone her machinations, was likely to make a man mad in the attempt. Best to give up and simply role with the flow, as Elias had learned the hard way.

In fact, as if to lend credence to her maddening manner, the pale woman was already inquiring about beverages, as if they had just avoided annihilation by the skin of their tingling teeth. “No, my lady,” the Ravokian replied with a notable tinge of refrain as he spoke, his hands busy dusting himself off after that particularly embarrassing debacle he’d been put through, “There are no refreshments here, perhaps if you would allow me to escort you back to the city proper, I could arrange for something.” Her next question immediately put him on edge. Was she toying with him, or was she as truly oblivious as she seemed? Elias turned his gaze away from her and directed it to the summoner still working diligently on his experiments at the other end of the hideout. Eva, despite all her ‘talents’ didn’t seem the type to be entrusted with a matter like this, and Olcot, a man who came across as loyal as he was dedicated, wouldn’t have withheld the fact he was sending someone else to do the job, let alone sending one of his masters. Eva, Elias decided as he returned his attentions to the plain mistress, was here of her own accord. She'd followed him then, more than likely from the manor where this had all started.

Sneaky little devil...

He gave the young woman a once over, making sure she wasn’t harmed after the storm she’d inadvertently -then very vertantly- let loose upon their heads. Then, a with hesitant gesture, he bid her follow him and find the answers to her questions.

“This is Baltazar Black.” Elias began, introducing the dark skinned mage, or more appropriately, introducing his back which was still pointedly turned to them. His pale counterpart that night had made sure to send a wave of hypnotic intimation towards the man’s sundered thoughts, reinforcing the summoner’s need to remain distract, to lose himself in his work, and subsequently, the fantasy he his mind was currently lost in as Elias carefully explained who he was and why they were here. In front of him atop a large, wobbly looking stable, lay arranged to the Ethafael’s ‘lab’ which consisted mostly of broken bits of chalk, ink pots, crumpled papers and a plethora of scrolls, each more interesting than the last. Some contained long winded dissertations while others displayed a number of strange and mysterious symbols, some simple and almost childlike, others so labyrinthine in their design it made the eyes water just to look at them.

At his feet, and particularly difficult to not notice, ran a large, confusing ring of more symbols scribed in ink upon the floorboards. Seeing as it resembled the glyph trap that had nearly turned them both to ash moments ago, the Ravokian wouldn’t have blamed the highborn if she decided it was best to stay well clear of the sweeping arrangement of alien symbols segmented only by the occasional candle purposefully placed at seemingly important junctions in the grand design.

This was what master Black had been working on for the last thirty chimes or so, doggedly tracing out and perfecting like a man possessed even if he couldn’t realize it.

It was a summoning circle.

And it wasn’t yet complete.

From what he had gathered from Olcot’s report, Baltazar had promised riches and rewards far exceeding anything the Nitrozians could have ever dreamed of. A considerable claim considering how filthy rich the family was to begin with. The man had bungled whatever final demonstration he’d hoped to use to dissuade his benefactors from canceling his experiments after so long without anything to show for them, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t still complete his work, if not for a different master. Elias would not admit it out loud of course, but he was a greedy motherpetcher, and more dangerously so, a curious one as well. He’d placed Baltazar in this hypnotic trance not so that he could transport the man back to Ravok without incident, but so that he could have the summoner finish his work and reveal these ‘riches’ that had gone as of yet untapped. When he was done, the Nitroizians would have their man back in a box as they’d requested, and Elias… well, they hadn’t said anything about ‘not’ doing what he wanted in that wonderfully vague middle part that came between the start and finish of this little hunt. What the family didn’t know couldn’t hurt them, and more importantly, it wouldn’t encourage them to hurt the stryfer either.

That had all changed now with Eva’s appearance.

“I drugged him.” The hypnotist said after a while, making damn sure to keep his tone level and calm as he spoke. He had to make sure his secrets remained so, and that included the fact that he could control minds. Elias liked Eva, despite her abysmally long list of faults, but she wasn’t the kind you entrusted your deepest darkest secrets too unless you wanted them drunkenly spewed out on the dining room floor one day. “Like a daydream, he believes himself back at his lab in Lhavit.” The ghostly killer continued, sending out another jolt of magical influence towards the mage to keep him docile and unconcerned of the dangerously sobering discussion going on around him. “Right now he’s on the verge of a very important discovery. I want to see what it is, but he requires… guidance at times.”

As if on cue, Baltazar perked up all of a sudden, his jeweled hand glimmering in the candlelight as it impatiently began to wander and wave off to the side in search of something that had the audacity of not being there when he needed it. “Hirem!” He barked expectantly, and Elias gave Eva a look before moving over to the table and handing the man a pen, to which he promptly cast aside with an annoyed grimace. Elias handed him a scroll next. It too went flying with an impertinent grunt. Finally, the hypnotist found a small lens nearby, one he recognized as that magecrafters would use when their auristic abilities were too weak or too non existent to study auras, and placed it gingerly in the summoner’s grip. It seemed to satisfy the elegant man, and having not removed his sleep laden eyes from whatever imaginary thing lay in front of him, Baltazar returned to his work.

“We need to be careful. He could snap free of his trance at any moment and reduce us both to dust in his disorientated state.” Even as he spoke the words though, the swordsman was already seeing the potential good of having Eva here. Every once in a while, Bal would start hooting and hollering for some young assistant called Kess, who apparently was ‘integral’ to this summoning process for some reason. Having already taken on the role of the brown nosing and incredibly pathetic Hirem, Elias had no more acting skill in him to engage both roles, but now that his dubious ward was here…

"Now, what are you doing here? Its not safe out in these wilds. Does Olcot know you're here? Does your father?"

[Evarista]

"I don't know if they know," Evarista shrugged after a pause. It wasn't something she ever thought about. It was none of their business, anyway. Meanwhile, Baltazar was getting increasingly agitated. "Yes, it's almost... Oh! There you are. Quickly, get to adding the coordinates. They're on the table. Don't touch the circle!" He suddenly noticed Evarista, who's been standing in front of him for some time, and shoved her towards the table thickly covered by dubious items. Coordinates...? For the first time, the heiress looked at the ground carefully and paid attention to what the mage was doing. She immediately recognized the nature of the drawing: a summoning circle. A long time ago, during her abortive enrolment at the Institute, she spent long afternoons cooped up in the library with summoning books. Granted, she was far more interested in the creatures than in the circles, but one didn't come without the other. Carefully liberating the number-covered parchment from under an arrangement of, thankfully, unlit candles, Evarista absent-mindedly looked around for something to draw with. She found it oddly satisfying that she instantly recognized which of the many papers on the table held the coordinates. "Kess! Are you blind? Use that inkwell over there." The summoner pointed at the object in question without looking up from his own brush-fiddling at the edge of the circle. He continued muttering under his breath. "Don't smear anything, I'm begging you." The improvised wizard assistant knelt down at the circle with brush in hand and inkwell at her side, vivid images of countless musty pages rushing back to her. The numbers had to go into the round slots at the outer edge. There were two layers slots, one for each 16-digit number. She recalled a very pedagogical illustration showing a clock face with a shadowy humanoid figure pushing back the minute hand. The numbers had to be drawn counter-clockwise. The first dip of the brush brought a tingle of excitement, followed by artistic concentration as she carefully implanted the first number in its proper place. She assumed it was proper, at least, since the summoner's cursory glance in her direction didn't hold more disapproval than usual. This felt sort of like painting graffiti on Hwyn back in the day, with the added thrill of a horrible death. Indeed, she could tell by the complexity of the circle that this was going to be something serious. In trying to recall what the summoning tomes considered "serious", she slowly braced herself for the necessity to run, swim, fly and burrow away from here as soon as the circle activated. Considering the things this circle could pop, you'd better be able to do all four. On the plus side, that only mattered if it didn't pop something that could kill you instantly. In that case you wouldn't have to worry about anything anymore. Pressing her lips together in delicate concentration, the brush-wielding assistant finished the last number in the outer circle before sneaking a glance full of doubt at her temporary master. The foreign gentleman was, without a doubt, notably skilled in his art, but at the moment also notably doped. The large amount of unnecessary movements he made called into question the clarity of his professional judgement. At a time when he needed his professional judgement the most, perhaps. Evarista's doubting glance shifted to the other man in the room; the only one whose judgement mattered even more. Did Elias really know what exactly he was setting into motion right now? If she was going to be honest with herself, it didn't look like he did. And she was way too sober to ignore that. Even so, she felt much more comfortable dealing with alien horrors than with awkward social situations, so she silently went on to drawing the second circle of coordinates. Her pale hand diligently projected digit after digit in uneven handwriting, until every slot was full. Not long after, the summoner had finished the final strokes on the circle itself. The complex geometry looked mesmerizing in the dark red ink. Although what he was doing was not particularly strenuous, Baltazar's face was covered in sweat. With trembling fingers, he snatched the paper from Evarista's hands and quickly compared the contents with the numbers on the floor. "Hm. Not bad. This works." The paper was carelessly flung back at Evarista, plastering itself across her face. "But now, stand back! The moment of truth is close. I'll... I'm going to do it." The wizard's tone suddenly turned dark, and he turned to the circle, seemingly forgetting everything else around him. Evarista obediently retreated, strategically edging closer to the exit. Trying to meet Elias' eyes, she tilted her head towards the door, warning him to do the same. "The things I've been through... the fools I've endured. Only one more step, and it's my turn to laugh." He declared to no one but himself. While his tone was confident, rivers of sweat were running down his face, so this was not a stressless experience. His hand darted to the nearby table and snatched a scroll covered in aggressive-looking glyphs, and walked another double-checking tour around his the eldritch painting on the floor. At least whatever force addled his conscious didn't addle his good security habits. No guarantees that would help, though. Trembling with anxiety, he brought his thumb to the edge of the scroll he was holding. A sharp motion, and a droplet of blood appeared on his thumb. Looking thoughtfully at it for a long moment, the summoner finally kneeled at the edge of his masterpiece and decisively implanted his vitae upon it. The room was instantly filled with a peculiar oily smell, and the the floor under the circle rippled like water. A massive, dark something began steadily bulging out of the spatial rift, and the whole cavern rumbled ominously. Dust and small rocks trickled from every crack in the ceiling. "Oh, no." Baltazar's voice sounded like he just lost a hand of cards. But his feet moved like he was just about to lose his life. In a flash, he was out of the cavern, dashing past his "assistants" like a bolt of lightning. Evarista has never seen anyone run so fast. And if anything, she was willing to trust the summoner's expert opinion on whether the summoning has gone terribly wrong. Making brief but meaningful eye contact with her partner in adventure, perhaps soon to be partner in tragedy, the black-haired aristocrat made a decisive move to the exit, beginning to sprout a pair of wings with suitable urgency. She was already on her second life today, and she wasn't sure if she had a third to spare.

[Elias Caldera]

It was with a steadily mounting sense of unease and apprehension that Elias watched the young Nitrozian heir set herself to task upon the convoluted patterns littering the floor.

Usually, talk of Eva’s father and his ambiguous threatening persona was enough to stymy the girl’s advance into whatever foolishness she had gotten herself into long enough for her to decide she was bored of it and move on. This time however, it seemed the allure of the unknown was too great to overcome and Eva had delved herself headlong into a thing she clearly had no hope of understanding… and yet with perplexing ease and grace, had somehow found her ‘artistic’ flow within mere moments of picking up the brush. Elias thought he recognized that natural instinct guiding her hand as she painted. It was the same kind that washed across his own whenever he set them to work on a new glyphing project or some magecrafting outline. There was a not so subtle want in the magic to be formed that took hold of its purveyors like a physical force at times, and the sorcerer could see that now in Evarista as her fingers danced across the cave’s floor with ink and pen.

Of course, it didn’t help soothe his nerves in the least bit.

The Caldera was by no means an adept when it came to the finer intricacies in the art of summoning. In fact it was more appropriate to say he knew next to nothing at all, which was why he had been so content to allow Baltazar his time and space when it came to continuing his work unabated. Unfortunately for them both though, Elias’s hypnotic dominion over the Ethafael had not been as flawless as he would have hoped, and its side effects had left the lamentable Mr. Black in somewhat of a drunken stupor, for lack of a better term. Sure, the man had bumbled and bounced about the cave from time to time as if blind one instant then alarmingly aware of everything and anything the next, but in the end, he had been doing his work, and Elias’s own knowledge of glyphing had helped the Ravokian keep track as best he could what was transpiring as the summoner hazily breathed life into his creation. It hadn’t been perfect, and there were more than a few occasions where Baltazar’s near inebriated state had threatened to bring the entire cave down upon both of their heads had not Elias hastily intervened and set the fool back on the right path…

If however, sobriety was a measure of one’s ability to not blow themselves to kingdom come, then perhaps Evarista Nitrozian was not the best choice to be taking up the mantle of summoner supreme after all.

With that thought firmly taking root in an ever more troubled mind, the stryfer quickly set about rifling through the near by stack of books and tomes in hopes of finding something that could help the girl keep herself -and Elias- from being turned into dripping stains on the wall after one poorly placed stroke of the pen.



…the Summoner can control the amount of restraint coming from the portal's aura, even after they have left the Summoning circle. A thick Djed chain still links the creature to the portal, functioning as a "leash" of sorts that keeps it from wandering too far from the portal. This leash, which the Summoner can control mentally, can also be pulled back to drag the creature back into the portal and to its native world. A heavy leash interferes with the creature's strength and abilities, though. The Summoner can strengthen the creature by weakening the leash, but this also reduces his ability to banish the creature should it rebel. Moreover, once a constraint has been lifted, the Summoner cannot change his mind and put it back. An unleashed creature is fully independent and has full access to its powers and magic, if any. Overly powerful creatures can break the leash by themselves if the circle is too…



That’ll do, the mage decided after quickly skimming over the passages in the third book he had managed to rip from the stack. Hurriedly, he began flipping from page to page in search of- aha, there it was. A diagram of a summoning circle that somewhat resembled the one Eva was now studiously toiling away upon. Nervously, he propped the book open in front of the pale heiress and hoped to god she noticed it in time to gleam some insight.

As he did this however, the mage noticed something peculiar. From the small mountain of scrolls and tomes he had been rummaging through, one he had not seen during his first raid of the summoner’s belongings had toppled free of the pile, and its simple, unassuming nature set it apart from the others and soon caught his eye;

it looked to be a journal.



Finally! The Nitrozians have agreed. Quite frankly, It’s about time. Even my considerable brilliance was beginning wane in this backwater fishing village I’ve found myself exiled to. Oh my sweet Lhavit, how I miss thee terribly each day I am away. Thank the sun and the stars that there are at least some here in this miserable city who have the mental capacity to recognize the untapped potential of my work. With the money and backing of these Ravokians, soon those fools who drove me from my home will understand the greatness that could of have been theirs’. Now, instead of praising my name as a hero, they will be cursing it in envy and despair. The name Baltazar Black will finally find its place in the history books at long last!



It seemed the dear professor had a knack for committing his thoughts and memories to paper, complete with the Ethafael’s overbearingly imperious overtones to boot. Despite this, Elias found himself quite intrigued by what he was reading and continued with his snooping as he flicked through the next several pages until at last landing on something juicy.



I’ve done it! By Leth’s light I’ve done it! I’ve cracked the code. Its taken weeks of laborious study and trial, but I’ve finally replicated the glyphs and patterns of my master’s lost work.
The door to Kavaki is open!

The way Kess was looking at me when the portal first burst to life and I put those slavering monsters in their place with merely a wag of my finger… That girl will be the death of me, I swear. Hirem on the other hand practically fainted at the sight of our latest guests. The poor lout nearly dropped thousands of mizas worth of alchemical goods in his surprise, though I could hardly blame him. It was indeed a sight to behold. The Kavaki are massive, hulking beasts with maws and appetites the likes of which this world has never before seen. Though not exactly what I had pictured from my master’s warnings, what these creatures lack in sophistication or table manners, they more than make up for in raw strength and savage potential. Truly, they are spectacular to behold. The monster I made contact with seems to know common, and by his unerring familiarity with our customs and language, I’ve a sense he’s been summoned to this plain before.

He calls himself Gorefang. I have a feeling he and I are going to become excellent friends in the days to come.

Imagine it! An entire army of these behemoths devouring my enemies whole…

[Note to self; make sure that old fart Sitanos receives a demonstration once I’ve got the specifics worked out. The family continues to grow impatient with my “lack of result.” This will finally shut them up. Also, the dynamic tether seemed weak. Need to stabilize the connection before…]



The notes rambled on like that for a few pages longer, detailing equations and magical formulas that, while Elias could certainly decipher if he wanted to, would have demanded more bells and patience than the young solider could stomach. As the stryfer continued to rummage through the personal rantings and ravings of the summoner however, he was beginning to notice an unsettling pattern in the journal’s tone. Despite the initial surge of joy at their success, each page after that was beset with a steadily increasing amount of dismay and frustration as failure after failure plagued the experiments Baltazar was running. It seemed this Kavaki known as Gorefang was the source of much of Baltazar’s woes, and things had quickly gone from bad to worse for the master magician as the days and weeks rolled on. Even his trademark arrogance had begun to falter, replaced instead by a dreadful sense of despair.

“Evarista, perhaps you should hold off on that for the time being…” Elias muttered absentmindedly as he flipped the next page. He was beginning to feel uneasy when a particular passage caught his attention and abruptly ceased his hasty skimming. The penmanship had lost is flare here all of a sudden, as if written under duress, and the page itself was crumpled and stained with sweat. As Elias began to read, he understood why.



I found Hirem this morning.

What was left of him had been discarded behind the cabinets, his body torn to shreds and gnawed on until there was little left to recognize. I only realized it was my dear dolt of an apprentice when I noticed his mother’s pendant amidst the gore. It seemed the boy had tried to open a portal and strike up a deal of his own while I was away. His betrayal cost him dearly, and he paid the price it seemed.

If only it had been Kess in his place.

That ravenous whore has stolen off into the night, abandoning me and making off with what was left of the Nitrozian’s funding. She’s gone, and if I know her, they’ll be no finding that ruinous bitch now.

After everything I’ve done for her! After everything I sacrificed!

All is lost. This endeavor is undone. The Nitrozians are breathing down my neck day in and day out, demanding result I cannot produce. I cannot reveal this latest blunder, nor the theft of what paltry coin I still had left…

Damn that monster! Damn him and all his gods forsaken kind!



“Evarista…” Elias grumbled, his eyes fixated on the letters as the flew off the page far too slowly for his liking.



I do not know how he does it, but every time I try and make contact with Kavaki, he is there, waiting for me. This ‘Gorefang’ is relentless, hounding my portals into his world like a dog after a scrap of meat. I cannot escape him, nor can I find any others willing to entertain my bargain while he persists on interfering with my work. The Kavaki’s demands for release grow more preposterous with each meeting, and every time he appears I am forced to turn him away lest he finally manages to break through my barrier and enter Mizahar. This creature has single handedly been responsible for my downfall. I should have listened to the council when they threw me out. I should have heeded my master’s warnings…

I have nothing left.

I must flee the city.



“Eva-”

But it was too late.

A blazing light bloomed into existence from beneath him as the summoning circle came to life. Baltazar was gone in a flash, and soon after so too was Eva. Elias found himself alone as he watched the monster slowly rise from the floor, their forms taking shape from an ethereal mass to match that of those he’d been reading about in the journal. Rows of armored plates and sneering teeth rose to greet the ebonclad warrior, and in an instant, he knew this was wrong.

Nothing was holding these monsters at bay. A doorway had been opened, and no leash or barrier stood to restrain the three creatures that were now stepping through unrestrained.

“Em rhi kah volta saul, Bal-ti-Zar!”

The lead abomination croaked, his voice an unearthly tenor as he surveyed the room. His inhuman eyes locked with that of Elias’s, and for a brief moment, the stryfer could have sworn he saw the thing smile.

In a flash his hand flew for his sword, but it wasn’t fast enough.