Of Plague and Sight

[Thomas Cosa]

"Maybe," Thomas murmured, his eyes vacant. "At least that's how it started, my practice. Perhaps it had a little to do with upsetting my father as well," Thomas smirked at the memory, "But that's only how it started. I wanted to see if I could, and I did. I animated anything and everything my skill would allow. But that was then, and...I think I care for them now, and I've begun to wonder if that's normal," Thomas whispered, stroking the metal skull, "Even if it had started as a 'just because', my purpose has changed since then and thus, my animations. Would that not make them different then Uldr? They do not reject me as he did Kihala, but I have yet to disappoint them -- I don't think I ever could." "Yes, Sahova has changed me," Thomas coldly responded, "But it will not kill me, or better said, I'll be long gone before it ever has the chance too," Thomas smirked, confident with Avalis. HIs faith in the Seeing Goddess was unwavering, and he believed completely that she would warn him when Dira followed him too closely. No, he would not die here. "I find it interesting how our experience has made us so different, at least in our feelings toward the undead. You should know how I feel by now," The young animator paused, smiling at the storyteller, "Yet, you pity them and even count one as a friend. Something I find fascinating, perhaps, should I ever meet Master Rayage, I can hope for the same treatment." Thomas watched as Wrenmae attached the red gems, completing the golem. The animator seemed to have everything made to order, Thomas seriously doubted the Nuit had made the skeleton himself. The Nuit weren't prone to manuable labor, no, that was for pulsers and golems. "I supposed as much," Thomas sighed, staring right into the metal wolf's ruby eyes. They flickered as they catched the light of the lab, giving off the illusion of sentience, "You said you had met an agent of Death's, yet you still spoke of Rayage as if he was alive. I cannot say I would have made the same decision, but I cannot judge you for it. You do count the Master as your friend, so it is understandable." "Will you, Wrenmae?' Thomas asked, glancing at the storyteller, "What are your plans for the future?"

[Wrenmae]

Standing over their lifeless creation, Wrenmae's hands were lost in his cloak. "In Zeltiva I met a gadgeteer named Tock." The name clicked in his mouth like a piece of metal snapping into place, "She was an animator as well, but she referred to her creations as her children...named them, cared for them, put them on a pedestool higher than her colleagues and friends." Turning to Jason, he regarded the animator for a moment. "She lost touch with reality...or maybe she simply created a new one to live within. Little more than junk carved and fixed together, but junk all the same. Is that what the Animators of Mizahar do now? They animate the simple and the mundane until given something like this to work on?" He nodded at the metal wolf.

"My plans for the future do not involve this outpost, this relic churning relics. I am here with Master Rayage for a simple purpose...retrieval, and then I will return to the wider world outside."

Shrugging, the mage paced across the room to the door, opening it and glancing both ways down the long halls. So far, no phantom or shape disturbed their empty solemnity. He closed it.

"My ambitious are with gods, Thomas, and I seek to use my abilities to make a name for myself where it will be remembered...to change the nature of this petty city-state world back into what it must have been before..." One hand crawled over the wall, as if searching for something, "A nation...a truly impressive time of prosperity and innovation."

His hand leaped from the cold stone wall and back to his side. "But, such is a long ways off. You say you are prepared to survive in Sahova...regardless of the cost."

The hypnotist smiled, "Tell me...how are you able to defend yourself?"

[Thomas Cosa]

"Is that so wrong, though? Perhaps they held more worth for Tock than those around her," Thomas glanced over at the storyteller, "In Animation, while it's not exactly recommended," he shrugged lighlty, turning back to the golem, "It is common for mages to use their own souls as a base for their creation's soulcore. Using your own soul, instead of a stranger's, forces a bond between creator and the created. You become attached, it can't be helped. This practice isn't something looked upon favorably in Sahova."

Thomas breathed deeply as he walked back towards the table, finding some odd parts to fiddle with as he listened to Wrenmae. He manually tried to screw several nails into some kind of metal knot, not really to bother finding a hammer.

"No, not junk. At least, all my animations, while they are numerous and scattered, they would never be considered junk or mundane. They all had purpose, and to my knowledge, continue to serve that purpose dutifully," Thomas smiled, "Of course, something like this golem," he gestured towards the metal wolf, "would certainly be more advanced then anything I've ever animated, but it certainly doesn't mean I'll stop animating at a more basic level. It just depends what I need and when, obviously I wouldn't animate a golem to open a door when I could just animate the door itself."

Thomas watched as Wrenmae opened the door, the young animator holding his breath. Should the Nuit return, Thomas would have to leave and leave fast. Wrenmae might be protected by Rayage, but Thomas had no such luxury.

Relaxing, Thomas smiled, breathing easily again, "You wish to bring the entire continent under one flag?" Thomas paused, looking back at the hypnotist, "And place yourself as ruler, I suppose? That is a...impressive feat, should you manage to bring it to fruition." Thomas glanced back down at the mangled gadget he had forced into creation, more a messy ball of metal then anything useful -- at least, no use that he could see. "But it is an admirable goal, interesting anyway."

"Whatever the cost, no. I will not leave this island undead, nor will I die here. That much, I believe I have been guaranteed," Thomas smiled, "But at the cost of verbal and physical abuse? Yes, I think my prize is most definitely worth a few insults," Thomas looked at the storyteller, "And for your goal, Wrenmae? Is there no cost too great for your goal of...unification?"

Suspicion marked his face at the hypnotist's question, Thomas eyed the man before him warily. Truthfully, he had no defense -- nor had he ever expected he would need one. His faith and trust in Avalis was his weakness if he had any, that and his constant underestimating of those around him. Besides, someone marked by Avalis was far too valuable to kill, or so Thomas hoped.

"Truthfully? I have no defense, I have as of yet felt the need," Thomas looked at Wrenmae, examining the man again. He was attractive, no one could say he wasn't -- but he had a slim build, much like Thomas, he couldn't have been much of a fighter. Although, the storyteller did seem to have a good understanding of hypnotism -- was that his defense. "What do you use to defend yourself?"

[Wrenmae]

Wrenmae laughed, the noise sudden and loud in the cavernous lab. Stopping himself, he shook his head and leaped up onto the work table, striking a heroic pose, “You think me much a sovereign, then? You honor me, I think.” Mirth dissolved the heated energy between them, certain tenseness during their conversation. “No, I do not imagine myself much of a ruler, more the orchestrator of alliances, the bridge of cultures, or, if necessary…” He paused, crouching down, gargoyle-like, and leering at the animator, “A common enemy to rally against.” He watched the young man for reactions before falling backward on his ass, laying out on the table like a sacrificial victim, arms and legs splayed out, staring at the ceiling.

“Once upon a time, this land was great. Magical innovation was at its height and the world resounded with the sound of progress. I’ve read about the Alahean empire, their enemies, the world before the Valterrian. For all its petty squabbling, wars, and games…the people had more choice. There were more OF us, a peak of cultural cohesion. Now we’re more a loose collection of city-states, content to strive alone than stand together.”

He turned and slid off the table, “Someone needs to rattle their cages. If not me, then who? The gods tiptoe around humanity, afraid of their consequential actions. Humans from Sunberth and Zeltiva might as well be different species. We are all made weaker for our lack of alliance.” He sauntered around the young man again, pausing to hear the last of what he said.

“Fair,” the hypnotist said, nodding, “You have felt no need to physical defend yourself. Certainly no nuit will physically assault you. It is not their way. They prefer to let their servants do it for them, or their magic do the work. But you have already told me you intend to leave this place. What then on the open road? Do you rely on the will of others? Do you, like the nuits, animate sentries of metal to defend you?” Reaching into his cloak, he drew out a long dagger and his rapier, both glittering in the light cast through the chamber, “And if menaced, by a brigand, before your skill is adequate enough to make such protectors? What then? Without order, the world might as well all be as dangerous as Sahova.”

He tossed the long dagger up, caught it by the hilt, fluidly turned it up, down, and diagonally through the air, the movements practiced and poised. “You must have passed through Sunberth to get here. Have you considered what they would think of you there? Mages are hung, Thomas, strung up like criminals or burned at the stake. Your animations will get you killed in Sunberth, but simply hiding your magical talents will not stop a predator for presuming you’re prey. He sheathed his rapier, pulling out his other long dagger, the steel long dagger and handing it out, hilt first, to the mage.

“You’re a man of ambition, and you possess a skill I do not have. I do not presume to trade the art of daggerplay for Animation, but consider these lessons a show of good faith. Among mages, there are few friends. We all seek leverage on eachother and few would consider the taxing of our Djed a mentally or physically safe practice. When you can avoid the use of magic, it is often best to do so. Overgiving can be a far worst fate than a stabbing, my friend.”

The hypnotist grinned, “One day, I may call on you to help me in a project, a quest, or a cause. Your expertise will be well welcomed then. I’d like if we could be on good terms before that question is ever posed…makes it easier on both our parts to broker an arrangement, should Lhex allow.”

[Thomas Cosa]

Thomas watched the young storyteller, his face a mixture of shock and curiosity. Thomas smiled awkwardly, watching the theatric performance. "Maybe not so much a ruler, as a court jester?" The young animator joked, happy to have a change in topic. "And you would so willingly sacrfice yourself?" Thomas asked, not sure whether Wrenmae was being serious, "You would really do that? Aren't you the...honorable one," he teased, not entirely believing the hypnotist. What was the point of unifying Mizahar if he wasn't going to rule it?

Thomas laughed loudly, as Wrenam dramatically collapsed on table, legs and arms sprawled out, the whole act reminding Thomas of a sacrificial victim. The young animator walked over, pulling a chair next to the fallen storyteller, "You certainly admire the old empire," Thomas paused, considering, "Not that I don't -- Alahean was home to some of the greatest wizards, some of who still walk this citadel. It would have been an opportunity to speak with them...before," Thomas ended the sentence there, assuming Wrenmae would know he meant before they turned to Nuits

Thomas turned to Wrenmae as he circled the young animator, "And you would so willingly make yourself the target of a whole nation? Just like that?" Thomas snapped his fingers, staring increduolusy at the hypnotist. "Well, after the last time a god became too involved with a human the Valterrian happened, so, it makes sense. Their hesitation, I mean," The Avalis favored youth paused, his right hand brushing against his glove covered seer's lily, "But they do choose humans to represent them -- that's what gnosis represent, don't they?"

Thomas fell quiet as Wrenmae pulled out the knife and rapier, the hypnotic reflective metal holding his gaze. He watched quietly as the storyteller casually fliped the long dagger, practicing various moves.

"The outside world is already much more dangerous then anything I could find in Sahova, Wrenmae," Thomas replied coldly, taking the dagger by the hilt, "Even Syliras isn't as safe as the knights would have you believe," he muttered, admiring his own reflection in the cold metal blade.

"So I agree. In exchange for the odd lesson," Thomas tried flipping the dagger like he had seen the hypnotist do -- only to land the dagger on the floor. "Obviously, I have no experience with this, so from the beginning?"

[Wrenmae]

"From the beginning," Wrenmae breathed, circling the mage, "Quite the journey you've left to take." With each step, he ebbed closer to the mage. His long dagger remained at his side, twitching ever so slightly in an eager hand. Step, poise, step, poise. He stalked the fellow. Each time he circled the mage, he switched hands with his blade. All the while he spoke, noting his reactions, his style, his posture, the shaking of his hands. Sahova had weakened him considerably, and this exposure to the Blight would certainly not fare well for the young man in the long run.

He might find himself in need of leaving Sahova, if only to find a place where the doctors were more the healing than the dissecting type.

"Note, if you will, the length of the blade. This is no ordinary dagger. Certainly, an ordinary dagger will do the job of killing well enough, but it is, at its core, the weapon of a thief and a coward. One would never draw it against a sword or in any sort of real weaponry fight. This blade is longer, a long dagger...for lack of a better term. It combines the length of a short sword with the speed and accuracy of a dagger. The blade was made to clang against other steel weapons, made for combat. As such it is harder to conceal, but not impossible...as long swords often are. This is a blade of necessity, faster to draw, to stab, to plunge. At the very heart of it though, it is still a dagger. Like all blades, it was meant to slay, and this one was meant to do so in close combat."

He whipped the blade up high, over Thomas' head, swinging it down just as quick to pause at the nape of his neck. Cold iron touched flesh and then he withdrew it, spinning it in his hand before plunging it into its scabbard.

"To wield a dagger, any dagger, you must learn how to be close and to be fast. A sword has superior reach and force, but a long dagger is quicker. A swordsman in close combat seeks to maximize that distance, push a close attacker away. If too close, the length of the sword diminishes the force and area a swordsman can swing. Remember this if you ever find yourself in combat."

Stepping around Thomas, he closed the distance between them till it was almost uncomfortable, reaching out, he clasped Thomas' arm, the one holding the blade and bent it in toward his body. Sticking his foot between the mage's legs, he knocked them wider, twisting around to see his form from the side. Pondering, Wrenmae positioned his wrist to hold the blade out, poised and ready, before stepping back.

"You need little force to pierce human skin. The trick is piercing it far enough. Lunge and thrust, twist and slash, stab and withdraw. Your greatest ally is your agility. A swordsman from Syliras will be weighed down by armor...while impressive, it affords them little mobility and greatly decreased speed. Analyze your opponent, spy their weakness, and strike before they can catch you."

Stepping back from the mage, Wrenmae indicated the empty air.

"Consider a hated foe...a nuit perhaps? Show me how you would attack it. Remember that a nuit has little need of internal organs. Adapt and attack. Consider it could be casting reimancy at you from every turn. Change, anticipate, strike."

[Thomas Cosa]

"Gotta start somewhere," Thomas smirked, turning slowly, keeping his eyes locked on the on the approaching hypnotist. It was a dance, Wrenmae the lead. The young mage carefully mirrored his stance, his steps, desperately trying to keep up. Arms shaking, plams sweaty, Thomas scowled. His own body betrayed his condition, he tightly grabbed hold of the lin dagger, the blade leaning horizontal to his sickly face in what he prayed would be a defensive pose. Still, the animator mimicked the storyteller as best he could, not wanting to disappoint.

Thomas may be a beginner, but that didn't mean he couldn't prove a quick study. Or so he hoped.

Thomas nodded as Wrenmae explained the weapon, his attentions divided between keeping up pace with the experienced and desperately trying to commit everything the storyteller said to memory. He muttered inaudibly Wrenmae taught, repeating the end of each sentence like a frail echo -- if his magic wasn't yet able to protect him, then he would learn to use the knife.

He wouldn't be caught unaware outside.

He wouldn't fear.

He wouldn't die.

The mage flinched as the hypnotists swung the metal weapon overhead, stunned briefly as he watced Wrenmae arched the weapon gracefully, the cold burn of a metallic kiss caressing his neck. Thomas blushed at his folly, the red tones made all the more obvious by the boy's unnaturally pale skin. He gently brushed his neck with his unarmed hand, careful to keep the dagger on the storyteller at all times. Next time, he wouldn't be such an easy target.

Again, Thomas divided his attentions trying to keep up with Wrenmae and maintain what he was saying -- "Fast and quick; nimble. Sword longer, dagger better in short distance. Don't give them chance to swing. Get close and end it," he hissed to himself, beads of sweat shimmering on his brow. It had been a while since any physical activity had been requred of him, but even still, he couldn't help but wonder if he had always tired so easily.

Perhaps he should be eating more then once a day?

Thomas snorted at the thought, mentally chiding himself for wanting such a luxury. He was lucky to eat once a day on Sahova. Lucky his masters remebered him human, at least enough to consider his most basic needs.

Lost in thought, Thomas was almost too easily caught, the cold touch of the dagger bringing him back to the present. Wrenmae had managed to use his own weapon against him, his body now awkwardly contorted at the hypnotist's will.

It was impressive to say the least.

"Have you killed, then?" Thomas asked breathlessly, his voice still managing to conveny an honest curiosity. He paused at the mention of the Nuit, smiling as he imagined gutting one from the throat down, silvery Ichor drainig from the putrid rotting body. Thomas breathed loudly, hestiantly forcing the dagger forward at an awkard angle, sure that Wrenmae would easily dodge it. He fumbled the dagger, jumping from side to side as he pretended the imaginary Nuit tossing non existant fire at the youth. Again, and again he would stab forward, much like a child learning to use a knife for the first time, each time slower then the next. Unless Wrenmae convinced Thomas he wouldn't acciendently gut the storyteller, his stabs would turn to slow swings -- his intent obvious to not kill.

[Wrenmae]

Wrenmae caught the blade easily, leading it to the outside of his body. Each strike he repulsed with the same languid tempo of his pupil. But slowly, slowly as the swings continued and their solemn dance continued across the laboratory, the tempo became faster. Wrenmae never sought to strike the young man, no, not yet. Instead he simply thwarted his attempts to engage the hypnotist. Palm thrusts, light parries. He considered disarming but felt it too harsh for this, their first lesson.

So they danced, foot after foot leading across the room. First he pushed, then Wrenmae. Each contributed their own flow to the clashing singsong of steel and cold iron. Wrenmae twisted, spinning to catch the blade. His body moved easily to the tempo he had set. Ups and downs, thrusts and sweeps. He was an expert at his craft and played it well.

Thomas struggled with his first instruction, but no more than Wrenmae had those years before. He kept his eyes on Thomas' own, moved with Thomas' body, and kept himself an opponent just out of reach, frustratingly coy.

"Killed someone?" He asked, parrying the next thrust and pressing in, forcing the blades up till their faces stared across a glistening metal divide. "Yes, I have taken life before. You will not fully understand the instrument in your hands until you have deigned to take a life. In the end, a blade is used to kill. There is no soft way of speaking and all the fools who count it as a tool of discipline or to defend are idealistic children."

Up came his dagger, feinting past Thomas' guard and lightly striking against his cheek, enough to draw a faint line of red.

"Feel the edge. Tell me in what world this tool was made to save a life?"

[Thomas Cosa]

"Besides your own?" Thomas responded cutely, his left hand gently brushing against the shallow cut. "But you do have a point," Thomas said, now tracing the fine edge of the long dagger, the metal pushing angrily against his skin. A small gasp escaped the animater's lips as a droplet of ruby liquid fell from his finger.

"This blade will never bring someone from Dira's grasp, only lead them to her," Thomas frowned, sucking on the cut, "But I suppose, the best defense is a good offense, no? There's nothing to fear from a dead corpse -- at least, not with most of them," The young animator smiled, mimicking the stance he had seen Wrenmae so easliy make, motioning the dagger towards the storyteller, "Again?" he asked, preparing himself.

He would pay attention to Wrenmae's strikes, watching the more effiecent fighter as a mouse would a cat, hoping to evade and nothing more.

Thomas cut through the air, the cold metal glimmering as it made it's way towards Wrenmae's stomach. He feighted awkwardly, pushing the dagger up towards the storyteller's shoulder.

OOCSorry, Short Post!

[Wrenmae]

"And he learns!" Wrenmae congratulated, catching his blade, redirecting it, catching it again. Stepping outside his grasp, he sheathed his long dagger and drew the rapier, pulling it across the air between them in a snarl. "Very good, you grasp the concept of a dagger, how to wield it. Tell me though, how do you propose taking victory from an opponent with reach?" Circling the mage again, Wrenmae grinned, testing his defenses. Step in, step out, thrust, slash, stab.

The movements taught to him by Trente flooded back bit by bit. He followed the path, turning his body sideways, presenting as little of a target as possible. For such a slight man, he was already a nimble creature...with basic fencing, it made the prospect even more difficult.

To be fair, he wasn't as versed in the art of the rapier as he was the long dagger, but a familiarity with both kept him easily ahead of his opponent. He slapped the blade aside, caught and directed the stabs and slashes wide. A smile had found its way on his face, crawling from ear to ear the longer they went.

Thomas refused to give up.

"Marvelous, marvelous," The mage complimented, "You have the makings of a great mage...that dedication will get you killed or great, whichever comes first certainly."

Catching the dagger again, Wrenmae stepped in close, pressing his face but a foot from Thomas, held there by the interlocked blades. "Tell me, Thomas, what is it that you will accomplish? How will you change the histories of this world?"