Flashback To Void or to Carve (solo)

[Wrenmae]

Spring 18, 510 AV
Wrenmae was stumped. His Voiding teacher had instructed him to go out and master widening his portal to the size of a fist, even larger if he could manage it. Personally, the whole art of it all scared the boy. The very idea that there was some nothingness behind reality, like some cavernous, constantly hungry maw that only existed to suck in the unwary and foolish who dared to disturb it was was frankly terrifying. Days Wrenmae had stayed awake thinking about it. His nightmares were painted with the phantoms of possibility that he might consume himself, consume Zan, consume other friends and companions…even the innocent, with his dare to folly. Now he sat with his back pressed against the cool wall of an alley. People walked by him, momentary glimpses of color and personality that ebbed into another, and another, and another. The streets of Zeltiva were full of possibility. In that sense, this place3 was indeed the greatest city of the fantastic that he had been to. The walls themselves spoke, alleys and houses moved, and the people came from far and wide to crack the mysteries or seek treasure among the ruined or hidden. If any had actually found them, Wrenmae was not sure. He could only speak with some expertise that he had never seen anyone leave with treasure strapped to their back…and he would know. If the walls felt shy, the abandoned and the opportunists would carry whispers like plague.
Perhaps too apt a comparison.

He was tucked away from sight, at least easy sight. The boxes stacked against the side of the alley laid some concealment for the small boy as he brought Djed into his hands. His purpose, or rather, his goal was to bring the void into existence. He had learned the aspect of nothing, he had learned to bring the void into existence, now he sought to learn its limitations. The void itself would sustain for a brief time, a tiny hungry mouth that would spit nothing and claim all before vanishing. Pulling paper and pen from his pack, he laid it down.

[Wrenmae]

Perhaps it was only that he wasn’t so skilled with the application of the magic, but he sought to guide his efforts through a utility magic he’d also learned from his teacher, Glyphing. Producing a quill, he dipped it thrice into the pitch-colored ink, setting the point of the quill on the paper before slowly drawing a line. He wanted the shape to mimic the circle of influence he wanted to make when the Portal was opened. The line spun into a circle, creating a ‘fuse’ and a ‘containment’. The idea of the simple glyph was to trap the energy of the void within the circle, open it to the limitations of the barrier, and then hold it till the fuse had burned away. He’d only give enough energy to fuel the portal that could naturally fit within the small line he had drawn on the outside of the circle. A containment and time limit glyph. Personally, Wrenmae had not been taught the real basics behind glyphing, at least no unified letters or symbols. Instead he’d been told by Seidaku to simply feel the shape. Wizards had some innate knowledge of how the glyphing was supposed to work and Wrenmae was no exception. He remembered the complicated rivers he’d drawn when he’d learned voiding, how they had criss crossed the page and led the Djed to its intended source.

He darkened the lines, making sure the shape was as perfect as his meager skill could produce. Shadows collected along the lines of the page, the circle grinned at him in its simple construction, awaiting his Djed to feed its creation. Sighing, Wrenmae placed both hands to the side of the paper and channeled his Djed. Closing his eyes, he entered the first step of the Void. At his meek understanding, the Void had to be something found in layers, not simply pulled out and swung around. So the first step was always self-induced darkness. Only in this absence of light, could Wrenmae envision the absence of stuff, or rather, of things. Nothing was a combination of two words, no and thing. In order to access that paradox, one had to imagine the world as an extra skin. Tugging a hole in it, one would reach beneath the existence and into the next.

Pushing his Djed forward, Wren concentrated his power into the glyphing circle. He felt it swirl there, collecting around the edges of the barrier he drew. Pushing it back, Wrenmae herded the energy into the single line of fuse. There the Djed would burn away until nothing was left.

At first the process was difficult, all force and no finesse. To help him, Wrenmae pushed Djed into his eyes, seeking the paths of light that made his Djed in order to better direct the flow. He found the process was made more difficult by forcing it, the energy bunching up and falling incompletely. Taking a mental step back, Wrenmae tried again, forcing his Djed to work in a trickle, filling the entirety of the fuse to the brim without damaging the glyph itself.

When he finished, the lay back, panting. It wasn’t that he’d used an excessive amount of Djed to power the glyph, but the process of controlling it so finitely was simply tiring.

Finished with the process, Wrenmae held up the paper and examined it. The glyph almost shone with unreleased magic and, shrugging, the mage set it on the ground and placed both hands on either side of the circle. Reaching into the shape, he triggered the Void, remembering again that cold and awing darkness he’d once seen before. For a moment, nothing happened. The alleyway was silent mime of all other alleyways spread around Alvadas. Frowning, the hypnotist tried again, more careful this time to memorize the feeling, reach beneath the realms, to bring that speck of nothing into existence.

A dot appeared, growing steadily before the young mage’s eyes. Scrambling back from the growing void, Wrenmae pressed his back up against the wall and watched the contained magic grow until it filled the area of his circle. It made no noise, but the hairs on his arms stood at attention. He could feel the faint breeze, a pull from the portal ponderously sucking in dust and tiny gnats that ventured too close. The glyph fuse began burning away, the ink drying and flaking from the paper the more the portal grew and sustained itself. The entirety of the thing pushed against Wren’s feeble barrier, stopped, and then pushed past it, swallowing the paper and expediting the fuse until it burned away, leaving the Void about the size of a buckler, sucking in everything that allowed itself to orbit around it.

Hissing, Wrenmae drew away, prepared to run, but it was already closing, folding in on itself, and in a few moments, reality had reasserted itself.

The ink from the paper had vanished, leaving slightly charred remains.

Wrenmae breathed…slowly, and laid back against the wall.

Gods…did the Void scare him.

[Wrenmae]

Back on the street, Wrenmae made his way back to his home. As usual, the trip took a mite longer than he remembered, an extra turn in one alleyway nearly spilling him into the Underground again. He had to be careful, constantly aware. The Underground was much like the Void, hungry and always seeking those it had once tasted before. Thrice in the past week, Wrenmae had found himself in an unnatural descent. Something called to him down there, something tugged at the strands of his soul for return. Was it the Strands? The Strains? He dared not consider returning to them again. That grey desert, that colorless world…everything about it was fit to fill him with a palpable dread. It tasted like dust, thick congealing dust that held his tongue and words captive till the thoughts had left his mind.

Returning to his room, Wrenmae pushed his bed aside to retrieve the cache of bones he’d been gathering. It was strange how many of them ended up in the city when one was looking. It was almost as if Alvadas wished to divulge its secrets to those who would only seek them out. Once, Wrenmae fancied he’d met the trickster himself…herself…itself…but he had left the encounter only in a state of wonder.

Alvadas was never as it seemed.

The first bones he’d taken were the remains of an Armadillo, exotic pet long left its prime he found behind a store of oddities. It was the shell that most interested him and he’d spent the better part of the last week cleaning everything else away. His ironfish item had not worked as he’d desired. Instead he sought to create some new means of defense and strength to shield his body from harm. He began with the armadillo shell. Perhaps wisely, Wrenmae chose to carve on the inside curve, concealing his circles and Maladiction from casual observation. He began as he usually did, tracing out the basic shape of a circle with his blade. Perhaps it was time to buy a chisel for such delicate operations, but the boy was resourceful, he worked for what he had and made do with substitutes where a pocketful of mizas would have gone missing before. The merchants could smell need, as if it had some sort of physical manifestation. Prices rose in the wake of wanted item and Wrenmae was not the richest rat in the Alvadas alleys.

He scratched out the basic circle, encompassing it in a larger circle still and then etching a line to a circle farther along the curve of the shell. In the circle farthest, he etched the word ‘blood’ and ‘price’, a price of blood would be paid for the item to take effect. It helped to construct these items as he envisioned them. By imagining the way it would work and interact, he could better plan for any pitfalls inherent in its construction. By now he’d left a wake of useless items behind. Only now he hoped to somehow create something of use to him.

He carved the line a litter stronger, the direct link to the item. In the center of the circle he struggled to draw the plating reminiscent on the outside of the shell. The way it set together, the flexibility, the mobility, he worked on a figure in the shape of a man, a person. In the circle encircling this principle circle, he etched the word ‘Shield’ and ‘Armor’, going so far as to etch in the shape of arrows, sword, axe, mace, spear, and crossbow quarrel. Specific tasked items to set against his Armadillo armor. He hoped that by specifying, the armor would work far more effectively against these types of weapons, namely the cold iron and steel construction of them.

Laying the item down on his bed, Wrenmae pricked his thumb and pressed it against the circles. For a moment, it was only blood, skin, and cadaver. But by focusing his Djed into the first circle, the price of blood, he pushed Djed into life, sparking sudden explosions of sparking magic and cascading effect. Drawing his thumb back quickly, he pressed it to the line, the outer circle, and the inner circle in order, pressing his Djed into the items one by one till all bore the spark of brilliance.

He lay the Armadillo shell aside, hitching his breath with the effort of the enchantment. The other bones he possessed could be used as well, certainly…but not today.

Today he had learned enough, tried enough, and pushed his Djed enough.

Today he would sleep.

[Fallacy]

XP Award! Name:Wrenmae XP Award: +2 Glyphing +1 Drawing +1 Voiding +1 Observation +1 Carving +2 Malediction Lore: Hiding Amongst Crates Fuse Glyphs 101 Containment Glyphs 101 Price in Malediction Notes: When wearing the armadillo shell, say as a sort of pack or a sort of hat, Wren will find that his flesh hardens to the consistency of the shell. The price of this however, is that he will move at a slightly slower rate than most humans, (about 1/5 slower), and his flesh will feel and look bunched up for about an hour after the item's removal. Notes: Just in case it's unclear, you were awarded drawing experience for some of the detail used to make the glyphs. Any questions or concerns about the rewards gained please send a PM