[Clarion] Careful what you wish for...

[Tarot]

41st day of Summer, 509 AV

The nuances of Clarion's temperament were utterly wasted on the Docks Overseer. Understanding people's words, it could. Sympathizing with them, it couldn't. The ability to interpret a feeling was deeply interwoven with the ability to experience said feeling. Both were expensive things to craft, so the Overseer had neither, and was perfectly content that way. It did not know what it was missing out on, at any rate.

The golem turned around and walked - in slow, regular strides that creaked with each footfall - away from the piers, implying that Clarion should be following. It led the Ethaefal to what appeared to be a small wagon, or some kind of open carriage, only without horses. The Overseer stepped on, not without some difficulty due to its sheer mass and limited joints. This was obviously uncommon behavior for the machine. Clarion had the impression that this golem rarely if ever escorted visitors to the Citadel personally. It had made an exception for him, though. Why?

"Get on," it ordered, "unless you wish to go on foot. That will take approximately two hours, however." The gemstones it had for eyes shone for a brief moment. "I suggest you keep your cool while inside the citadel. The Masters have been known to use undesirable visitors as experimental subjects in the past." There was literally nothing in their immediate surroundings - just a silent island with the occasional aromatic bush and small olive tree. In the distance, though, one could see the extinct volcano that shaped Sahova, and the outer walls of what must be a large bastion.

[Clarion Voss]

ooc: Thanks for picking this up Tarot.

The youth couldn't help but admire the metallic creation despite all it's imperfections. His headache was passing but Clarion had to consciously stop himself from applying pressure against his jaw. The animation's lecture mildly skimmed against the surface of his features in passing, yet an audience with an arch-wizard was not one the Ethaefal would pass up simply to pride.. not today. He calmly heaved his body into the carriage and sat down next to Chuckles.. For that's what Voss had dubbed it minutes before, it suited the golem's warm exterior.

"So.. Chuckles. I'm aware of the written history of the Isle and have a paramount amount of respect for it's masters. " lie. "Yet as a practitioner of the arts, is there anything that I should be Made aware of before entering. To what regard are the not so dead and used against their own will needed for here?"

Unconsciously it would be a common emotional response to feel some sense of forbearance or fear when approaching Sahova.. but he had none; only mild curiosity. Voss found that strange, then again it was a typical sensation when entering a place your spirit had been before..
Killing the smirk, inside some part of him knew better then find ground in over confidence, especially in the face of such devotion and history; but like a top the young mage's ego just could not help but spin extremely close to the edge.

As they traveled, Clarion would use that time to focus on his breathing and calm any buoyancy his mind may yet retain. It was better to be even and aware not cocky and smiling dead. The meditation was brief but combined with the sun's rays helped to remove any physical and mental discomfort he may have felt prior. Looking over to Chuckles.. he hoped the Overseer could drive thrice as well as it could climb.. or they were in for a very long walk.

[Tarot]

"My identifier is Docks Overseer #11", the clockwork automaton corrected Clarion, seemingly without offense taken. "Unfortunately, I am not advanced enough to warrant a unique name. That is a privilege that only Supervisor Drainira can claim for herself, but you may refer to me as Chuckles, if you so wish." The Overseer did not really understand the logic behind this particular nickname, but then again this was probably why it did not deserve to be named.

The wagon did not seem to require any driving skills whatsoever. Provided with what little intelligence it took to get a vehicle moving along a mostly straight line, it did its job in silence and it did it well enough. The weather was nice and warm on this day, but it did little to warm the barren Sahovan atmosphere. The creaking sounds of the wagon's wheels and the Overseer's monotone voice were pretty much the only sounds to be heard in miles.

"I am sorry, I cannot be of much help in this regard," the Overseer explained, "golems on Sahova operate on the principle of least access. We all know the minimum amount of information that will get our jobs done, and no more. I know little of what takes place within the citadel's walls, except for what is relevant to my tasks as the Docks Overseer. I can tell, however, when visitors of flesh and blood enter the citadel, and do not leave. Sometimes they wish to stay. Sometimes they do not have a choice. A few of the Masters are less respectful of the lives of foreigners than most."

Little by little, the wagon made its way to the outer walls of the citadel. Like most Alahean magical facilities, the greater part of the building was underground, to protect its experiments from the outside world and to protect the outside world from its experiments. The walls and defensive fortifications, of which there were two sets, merged into the mountain itself, a large extinct volcano by the look of it. They had taken explosive damage in antiquity, damage that had never been repaired. Moss had grown on the wounded wall sections, betraying the age of such scars.

The wagon stopped in front of a large portcullis.

"If this isn't Overseer #11! I haven't seen you in ages," a disembodied female voice chirped all of a sudden. It came from no specific point inside the citadel, but it was still clear and loud to hear. "And who might our guest be? He must be important, for you to come all the way here."

Chuckles nodded, gemstone eyes glittering. "This man's name is Clarion Voss. I need to take him to the Archwizard over matters of internal security, Drainira."

"Sounds serious," the voice agreed, and the portcullis began to slide open. "So, Mr. Voss, how do you like Sahova so far? I am Supervisor Drainira, the golem in control of the citadel itself. You can address me from anywhere in the citadel, so feel free to ask. As you can imagine, the toilets are especially difficult to locate, given that none of the residents need them at all."

[Clarion Voss]

Sitting alongside number 11, Voss's left cheek rippled like a pond, being the ironic stone the overseer dropped into his mind.
"Smooth Driving Chuck. I appreciate it."
The shifting shadows of smeared tar over glass held the contour of bodies, like a memory where the people changed location in time lapse but the place.. that stayed the same.
It was succinct in flavor, a memory that split the skull to the tongue. Then it was gone.
The vehicle stopped at the gate to a rustic facility as the Ethaefal glanced over to see what type of mechanics it took to drive such a chariot. The disembodied voice that filtered out sounded a tad more oiled behind the ears than the driver but Clarion had no problems.

"Drainira, a pleasure. Perhaps if you need someone to wind you back up later, let me know. Sahova is beautiful, in a undead dungeon pipe organ kind a way but I'm looking forward to the experience. Once in a life time.. so I've heard." He smiled sweetly, and as the vehicle pulled inside the stoney maw Clarion cleared his throat in passing, his features collecting into a casual reserve, both sharp and spotless. The hum of magic seemed to boom like the heart of a behemoth if one were swallowed whole.. here there were mysteries that even time had buried. The pages of memory ran lucid behind the walls of bone and blood, pumping in a rhythm that overpowered any exterior music. He slipped the driver a single miza.

"For your troubles. Hope it all works out for y'a."

[Tarot]

"A tempting offer, Mr. Voss, but I'm not that kind of golem," Drainira quipped back. The wagon slipped into the inner courtyard, a large open space that had long since being overpowered by weeds and wild vegetation. The once proud statues of Alahean rulers were obfuscated by rampant ivy and other parasitic plants. While the undead inhabited the inside, they had pretty much abandoned the façade of their abode... maybe they lacked the resources to do so, or maybe there was no-one in the world they wanted to impress anymore.

Finally, the wagon stopped for the second and last time, in front of a large golden door, decorated with ancient coats of arms and leading into the mountain itself. Again, it slid open on its own, but this was as far as Chuck could go. "I am not allowed to proceed further," #11 said, "From now on you are on your own. Just let Drainira direct you to the Archwizard's office and show him that invitation. He will know what to do. Who knows, you might even convince him to let you have your duel."

Really, #11 had no idea why people were so enamoured with the idea of battling other people. It sure had no wish to beat other golems up. It chalked it up to the anomalies of being a "pulser" - as they called those with a pulse on the island. It accepted the Miza, examining the metal-lined gemstone and not understanding why it had been offered, but decided there was no harm in keeping it. Golems kept no private property, but they had their own storage rooms and had some free reign over what they put in them.

"You do not look the type who would want to become an undead," were its parting words as it turned the wagon around. "Stay alive."

"A most wise counsel," Drainira interjected, "life is so much more interesting, though I am the only one in here who thinks so. Please follow the arrows to the Archwizard's office."

The interior of the mountain started with a long corridor. The air was heavy and stale. Blue crystals behind glass panes excavated in the rock provided the place with a halo of azure light. Similarly glowing arrows on the floor seemed to flare on and off, definitely on Drainira's will, showing him the way. Deeper into the bastion, corridors got more labyrinthine, and navigating one's way through the crossroads and flights of stairs would have been quite the task without the arrows.

"There is a 92% probability of your being a wizard, Mr. Voss," Drainira tried to make some small talk along the way, her ethereal voice unimpeded by the walls. "What does magic mean to you? The motivations of living people always make me curious, you see."

[Clarion Voss]

The bold features of Clarion Voss hardened smoothly, his eyes hunting for prey before falling to dusk in a twinkle. Entering the fortress, he cared little for aesthetics or decor, the goal in mind being of foremost importance.. But what was it truly?
His golden streaked hair brushed both ears as the mage's foot falls directed him forward impassively without delay. Drainira's cheerful tone brought that trademark daylight smirk to bear, but his pupils still hung like an callous animal, leaving the candor of his voice dry and subtle.

"It's the other 8% I'd be worried about.. " Sahova's ambiance was not brushed aside, but noted and cataloged without predisposition. Clarion looked from left to right, reaching out with his magic ever so slightly to get a sense of the aura and flavor of it's witch's brew. He kept speaking, calm yet with greater forced interest.

"What intrigues me Drainira is how a voice so attractive could belong to something so cold and metallic. I'm caught between the arch-wizard's wife or daughter.. which are you designed to imitate. Damn fine magic." His smile widened slightly, improving the intemperate mood of the guest.
"Tell me when I'm getting hot.. I mean close."

[Tarot]

"The other 8% is a conglomerate of about two thousand possibilities that I have been entertaining since you stepped in," Drainira answered. "For instance, that you could be a shrewd merchant and have made up a series of excuses to get to the Archwizard and offer your merchandise. Stranger things have happened. Second corridor to the right." The corresponding arrow on the floor lit up as if on cue.

"I am not sure who I was modeled after, myself. Father, I mean, the Archwizard, is much like a writer; he draws inspiration from the world to make his characters, but will not plagiarize any one person. What I can tell you is that the Archwizard's family is a blacklisted topic here on Sahova. I would not bring it up with him if I were you."

Five arrows later, it seemed that the door of the Archwizard's office was within reach. The plaque read "Zarik Mashaen - Archwizard". The wood must have undergone some treatment to preserve it through the centuries, or maybe it had been replaced in recent times. Clarion needed not knock - Drainira somehow made the door shake three times at regular intervals. "Come in," said a calm male voice from within. Again, Clarion did not have to open the door - it simply swung open without making a sound.

The office was not overly large or luxurious, considering the station of his occupant. Like all of Sahova, it was decorated with sturdy, durable things that could accompany their owners through their century-long existences. A robed man sat behind a simple desk, quill in his hand, scribbling notes on what appeared to be blueprints of some strange project. A wide, imposing bookshelf occupied the whole wall behind him. The room had no windows and the air felt just as state as everywhere else. Glowing blue lights lined up on the walls above their heads provided the necessary illumination.

Zarik Mashaen looked to be a thirty-something body with a long, chiseled face. His black hair was well cared for, which was perhaps unique among Sahovans. His slender fingers dropped the quill and his intelligent, yet lifeless, gaze shifted to Clarion. "Greetings, I am Zarik Mashaen, Archwizard of Sahova." His voice had a regular beat to it, slow but steady.

"This man has been instructed by the Docks Overseer to speak with you," Drainira introduced him. Mashaen nodded, tilted his head and gave Clarion a cursory glance. "Please, have a seat and tell me your story. I would offer you something to drink, but Sahova being Sahova, seawater is the only thing we have in abundance."

[Clarion Voss]

In the daylight, Voss exhibited character much unlike his nightly guise. He was a youth in his prime, beaming with sharp confidence, violate energy and unable to stop tempting fate. His fingertips hit the walls like flint to fire, entering the office casually and with real intention. Right away the Archwizard intrigued him.. something about the figure made him feel a connection to a place mere minutes ago invoked only veiled response.
The Ethaefal placed himself in the seat opposite of Zarik, watching the man idly as he spoke.

"How bou't a glass of Embalming Fluid.. on the rocks." Both eyes twinkled, enjoying the moment with someone who might have recognized his face, had it been contorted by the moon. He spoke offhand but carefully.

"My story is far from interesting, recently crashed from Syna's celestial palace, made a dent, actually a crater... learned how to light cigars with my fingertips and now I'm talking to an Archwizard with a sense of humor. Still waiting for the year to get interesting.."

Clarion leaned forward slightly, his auburn hair falling over one eye only to be tossed aside.

"I'd like to know something Zarik. Who protects your interests abroad? Who are your eyes and ears. Who collects your trinkets when the golems break down and the nuits dry up..Because what I want - I want an Exchange. No gift, no floor scrubbing or carrying buckets of water with an army of two armed broomsticks. I want to be your advocate, flexing your muscle. Your Will.. "

He smiled firmly, revealing stark white teeth with a raised open palm.

"Abroad. Politics. Recovery. Disappearance. Name it. What I want.. Starts with training. Starts with Summoning. Starts with more." That was only the crescent to the sphere of his desires.. but a fairly balanced one.

"Nice to meet you."

[Tarot]

Mashaen listened carefully, though he had a tendency to look past you and at the opposite wall, where a blackboard displayed some sketches and notes related to building a golem's arm joint. After a while, he picked up his quill and began scribbling something. If Clarion chose to take a look, he would see it was the doodle of a two-armed broomstick. Zarik had obviously liked the idea and thought it warranted further investigation.

"I must admit, Mr. Voss, that listening to you brings back memories of a time long past," he began. "Back then, I had the same drive. Do things, become... more. Of course, we were all escaping from a difficult social background, poverty, famine, a war-torn county. Social mobility was the main reason I studied to become a wizard. Many Sahovans will tell you the same story, if they can still remember it. I had eight siblings, myself."

"Somehow, my ambition landed me here. Surely back then I had no idea my future would consist of being a very powerful rotting corpse spending eternity doing research on behalf of a long dead empire." He twirled the quill between his long, pale fingers. "Your ambition will likely lead you into a gloriously insignificant future just like mine, but I guess the moth is still drawn to the flame."

"I may have work for you." He stroked his chin with a very dead hand. "Vyldred, our lead Summoner, will teach you if I give him the word. I care not why you wish for this specific discipline that has claimed more lives than basically any other. I believe people have every right to destroy their lives as they see fit."

"I have a Nuit on Sahova that has been displaying growing symptoms of overgiving. He is becoming unstable, and might eventually grow into a threat for the entire Sahovan community. His name is Master Zhull."

"Incidentally," Drainira interjected, "there is a 98% probability that the letter Mr. Voss is carrying on himself was written by none other than Master Zhull."

The Archwizard's lips pursed into a round O. "It appears you have been contacted by a man that needs to be disposed of."

[Clarion Voss]

Voss wrinkled his nose.
"Memories. Aye Zarik.. what do you muse of the Ethaefal? The holy pilgrims of Syna and Leth."
There was only a drop of sarcasm there.. He continued to speak while doting on the past and his own slippery slope, wondering if perhaps this mighty miser had known the wizard he had been so many sunfalls ago.

"My ambitions are like any newly hatched mortal, both base and complex. Having a Dueling nature only makes that a double shot worse. My night side is an ancient human, clinging to the missing shreds of his past life. You do .. know about the .. Ethaefal. Don't you?"
He actually felt the need to fill in his racial back story to an Archmage, clever.
The brazen haired youth coughed to clear the air while removing the paper challenge from his sleeve.
"Here." He tossed the item onto the desk.
"The strings of fate fill the gap in both our needs. Exactly what is the story to this nuity Mr Zhull." The joke was bad, but his confidence just kept riding on like a chariot wheel over a bear cub. Clarion leaned back against his seat, half expecting it's enchanted limbs to start gnawing at his neck or sing.

"You see, it's quite something.. to be. REBORN. Stuck with the livery of a handful of past lives. Reason I don't sleep much, I'll tell you that. Dreams. I'm either drinking blood like it's mother's milk or playing chess with a cheating god. Do you know how difficult it is to beat someone who controls time with a bladder full of warm claret?" He looked the dead master's face once over. "Well you might. You just might."
Voss couldn't help but smile.