Forum Thread

The Kingdom of Alderaan was a great one, to be sure. The might of their military could not be matched across Terraomnium, their population large enough that it could be its own army in and of itself. Their crops were always flourishing, their king and queen were just and good, and no one in Alderaan went without justice and a full belly. But they weren’t completely safe from trouble.

In the far edges of the kingdom, in a tiny shack that looked as if a giant had stuffed it between two far larger buildings for later use, a tiny old woman was hunched over, cross legged as she looked at the large book before her that looked just about as ancient as she did. The book’s pages were splattered with inky black words that looked like they’d been written in a hurry. The illustrations were gruesome and horrible, and equally messy, as if the artist was feeling the dread and regret of ever making these things come to life. The woman grinned, several teeth missing as her gnarled fingers stroked the page and her lips moved, the spells coming to life, letters glowing as she turned each page. The smoke in the room was starting to turn a sickly green color, slowly taking shape until it took the form of a vulture’s skeleton, eyes glowing a deep gold. “Spread your disease,” the old woman spat, though the energy had clearly left her, and she was growing weaker. “Bring them all to ruin.” The vulture skeleton shrieked, and with one flap of its wings, flew right through the ceiling, the smoke going with it.

The old woman collapsed to her knees, barely able to keep up her head. She knew that she was dying, but she had to be sure there was nothing she missed. She turned the last page and cursed. How could she be so stupid? Of course it still exsisted, as if the universe was determined to stop her plan of revenge. But she would have it, and she would have it for all of them. So, she reached into her pocket and yanked out four black spheres, and with the last of her strength, slammed them against the ground. They morphed into four hulking black soldiers whose faces were obscured by helmets, though there were still pinpricks of red. “Find…Emerald Garden..Destroy it…every last one.” In one instant, the soldier-golems nodded, and burst through the door, walking out, and the woman collapsed to the ground, her last breath wheezing out of her as she closed her eyes forever.

“Alright, enough!” the woman yelled, pushing him out of the inn. “Go take your sorry little self out on the streets, y’hear? I’ll have no more of your antics.” “But-” The man tried to get to his feet, but she’d already slammed the door shut and was walking back to the bar. Everyone had gone dead silent at the sight of her anger, but after she walked back around and slammed a glass on the table, yelling, “Free drinks for whoever can beat me in an arm wrestle,” they all went back to their conversations. The bartender was a muscular woman, over six feet tall with broad shoulders and an intimidating glare, and most of them weren’t interested in trying and failing.

---

While noise and chaos were a common event in the life of a practicing master of the arts of magicka, the discord in the doorway of the inn drew attention almost immediately. Simply noise was one thing, but enraged shouting was another, and it was far more interesting than the roar of a blaze or the hiss of harnessed winds. Due to that, a pair of eyes quickly found themselves affixed on the source of the noise, the commotion.

Hidden as they were, the eyes were easily recognizable, for their irises were gilded, and the hood that hid them seemed to shine with a foreign magicka. While the robes could easily be passed off as any mage's common wear, it was truly the eyes that gave away the true form of magicka hidden among the folds of the cloak; the color within them was stained, tainted to a reflective bronze, shining in the low light. The true mark of a runic master, for the use of the runes carried in the robes would always leech their light into the user, no matter their material. Lowering their hood, the mage finally revealed themselves, stepping easily towards the doorway of the inn, hearing a challenge shouted within.

While not an exceptionally large or well-built fellow, the rune mage was clearly a master of the art that they so willingly claimed; several small stones could be seen just inside the left sleeve of the cloak he wore, small sets of characters gleaming within the rock. His apparel was simple, a simple set of trousers and leather boots, covered by the previously mentioned cloak, a long jacket of the deepest umber, sporting a hood and light material, something from a very foreign land; this was no native fellow, no man who naturally pondered these lands. Under the jacket, his torso bore only the barest minimum of cloth, a wrap covering the shoulders and upper chest. His midsection was adorned with the lower half of a large rune, or maybe a brand, the flesh slightly twisted from the earning of the symbol. His hair was long, tied back in a tight knot at the back of his head, pulled out of the way of his vision. The hair in question was a certain shade of grey, though the face of the mage was young, too young for there to be any severe discoloration of his hair.

His eyes held a whisper of steely determination, though it was nearly wholly covered by an entirely separate kindness, brought from years of study under silence and obedience, taught carefully in the arts of the runes. Those eyes carefully scanned the room, his hood resting against his shoulders. He called out towards the keeper, answering the challenge.

"Aye, a free drink to a winner? I'll need to try and take up that offer, I'm in desperate need of a drink."

Alacra liked simple things. She was used to her life, and would never want it another way. She had her inn, her friends and family, and her old life? The one that was a bit more…complicated? It would be gone forever. Alacra was settled in this small part of Aladeraan, and she would stay there, content. So when the obvious magic-user walked through her door, she sucked in a sharp breath. Alacra had forgotten what they were like. That..oddness that surrounded them, no matter who they were, that set them apart from anyone else. She thought that she’d never see another again, after…Alacra banished that though from her mind before it went down a train that she had sworn she’d never let herself go down again. This was fine. It was fine. She could handle a magic user. Besides, he looked friendly enough. Perhaps he was just passing through.

She looked up, all of the emotions running through her head washed away, and forced herself to smile. “Now that’s not something I thought I’d hear. Most everyone’s too intimidated to take the challenge. But if you really think so…” Alacra leaned against the counter, resting her elbow on the table. “Go right ahead. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

---

The mage flashed a grin, stepping up to the table and shedding his cloak, setting it aside. His arms were decorated with more runes, tattooed on with a careful hand, and his idle hand bore a small chain, runes hanging from it and jingling quietly against one another. Answering the challenge, he resting his elbow on the table, joining hands with Alacra, carefully composing himself, bracing his legs. He recognized her strength easily, and he knew just how he might lose, if all went poorly. He might stumble and trip, or he might resist too much and instead lose the table to the strength opposite of him. The possibilities were near endless, especially with his current weary state. The mage had been traveling on foot for some time, and though he had his magicka to aid him, it still tolled his body and mind.

"I'm ready when you are, keeper. Say the word, and we'll be on." The mage clenched his free hand, a silent pop heard, as though his joints had just crackled.

This was a new one for Alacra, and though she despised change, she suppose this was a welcome one. Still, she took a moment to eye the mage up and down. He didn't look like much of a challenge, still, Alacra wasn't one to underestimate her opponent. After a few more seconds of contemplation, she began to push her hand down towards the table. Around them, the other customers were starting to watch with interest.

---

The mage muttered something, his free hand clenching once more. One of his tattoos slowly came to life, the rune glowing a dark, maroon red. To an experienced scholar or another mage, the rune was easy to identify, and one of the easiest to master; "Resist." Still, he gritted his teeth, bracing himself more steadily. While the rune might have helped, he was still in for a difficult competition; he was in no shape to be casting his runes, nor to be battling for a simple drink. When he used the rune, though, a slight sparkle came o his bronze-cast eyes, as if the rune not only allowed him to push back some, but resisted his fatigue as well. The hand he'd used to cast the rune was pale from his grip, squeezing the small runestone with a fury. His breaths were measured and even, careful and slow, as if any quick breath or any moment of holding his breath might result in an instant loss. He still offered his grin, though; that wide, toothy grin, intent on proving himself.

Alacra gritted her teeth. She had a feeling that this mage was up to something, but she'd won against larger men than him, she'd be able to take him. But, then again, Alacra could tell that she was losing. But she'd never been one to give up a fight easily, so she leaned forward. "This is getting…interesting,” she grunted, grinning. If he was going to use his magic, she was going to lean to her own advantages, putting all of her strength into it, muscles flexing and eyes narrowed in concentration. But what she didn’t notice was the strange, ghostly bird watching through the window of the inn, before it shrieked, bursting through the inn and flying back out, the trail of smoke it left filling the room. Alacra was so suprised she lost her concentration and was easily beat.

---

The shriek from the ghastly avian didn't go unnoticed by the victorious runemaster, though. Almost as soon as his triumph was gained, he whipped around, eyes frantic, searching for the source of such an inhuman cry. His vision was blocked shortly by the clouds of smoke slowly expanding, filling the room. For a moment, he fumbled, desperately snatching at a rune on his wrist, before successfully removing it and holding the stone up, crying out a single, unrecognizable word. To a common man or woman, the word meant nothing, but to the rune the mage held, it meant "Wind" or "Force." Several seconds passed, the smoke slowly drifting forwards, skeletal tendrils reaching greedily towards the mage and the barkeeper behind him. Then, as if from the walls themselves, a soft wind started to blow, quickly gaining power.

The mage trembled slightly, clinging to his consciousness desperately, his eyes glaring at the fog, the winds slowly battling with the particulate, trying fruitfully to push the smoke out of the building. Though, the mage's power was waning, that was clear. The winds were dying down, and his body began to shake more and more, his free hand slowly reaching out, gasping the edge of a table for support.

Alacra was on her feet in an instant. She might have no idea what this man was doing, or what this smoke was, but she knew she had to get everyone out of here. Right Now. Obviously, this was the work of magic, and Alacra knew firsthand the devastating things it could do. Her decision was finalized when she saw those who the magic had touched, lying on the ground, eyes wide with fear as their skin turned a nasty shade of green and their limbs began to shake and twist. "Everyone out!" she roared as she ran towards the back door, yanking it open. To her relief, she could see no sign of the smoke outside. At least, for now. A few people who'd been closer to the stranger and Alacra scrambled out the door as quickly as they could. Alacra's mind raced, trying to think of a solution. Then, she realized one. "There's an underground vault in the palace library. We're not far from it, thankfully. If we-" Alacra noticed the man's exhaustion. "Grab on," she said, holding out her hand. "I can get us both there if you trust me. Though, I'm not sure if you have a choice."

---

The mage glanced to the side, his eyes landing upon Alacra's extended hand. He reached out slowly, then stumbled towards the keeper, his exhaustion finally winning over his determination. The runestone quickly returned to his bracelet, attaching to the chain with a loud crack. The mage grabbed ahold of Alacra's hand, his grip weak but stiff. His mind was slowly slipping into sleep, the fatigue starting to win influence within the mage. He stumbled once more, already trying to get to the door. Recognition flashed in his eyes as well, glancing back at the plume of pestilence. He knew something, but he was too exhausted to truly speak what was so fresh in his mind. His breaths came is gasps, his footsteps uneven and stumbling. Every ounce of energy in the man was going towards escaping from the inn, desperate to rest, but more so to be away from the cloud of hatred behind him.

Alacra reacted immeadientally, pulling him with a bit more force then might have been wise for someone who looked like they were going to fall asleep on their feet, but they had to get out of there immeadientally. Eventually, she could tell that he was veering the point of collapse, so after getting about a dozen feet from the building, she wordlessley slung his arm over her shoulder to support his wheight. The smoke loomed behind them like a savage giant, and she sped up as best as she could. The library was getting closer and closer, and Alacra could see Evan, the Chief Librarian, standing outside anxiously, his hair slicked back too much as usual, his hands waving furiously as he let terrified citizens into the library. Evan made eye contact with Alacra and rushed forward. When he got to them, he didn’t even question the strange situation, just helped her get the man into the library and down the huge flight of stairs into the vault. Once they had him leaning against the wall, all he said to Alacra was, “Glad you’re safe,” before he sprinted off to help others. The vault was filling, and fast. Alacra turned to the stranger. “We’re safe here. For now.”

---

The mage nodded his head in thanks, sinking slowly down tot he floor. "Need to.. Rest.." The words were so quiet that they were nearly missed, but his message was easily realized; his eyes were barely staying open, the bronze irises vanishing from view for several seconds at a time. If there were any questions, now wouldn't be the right time for them. The mage pawed for a moment at his cloak, his hand closing around a stone trapped within the folds of it. "Th'one I need.. Right here.. Give me it please.." He leaned his back back, struggling to keep awake, his hands fumbling at the cloak, trying desperately to free the stone from the folds. Despite his fatigue, he seemed intent on casting one more rune.

Alacra’s mind was racing, a million questions, a million fears filling her up. But when she saw the clear exhaustion on his face, and the runemaster’s desperation to get..whatever it was free from his cloak, she drove all of her doubts and fears from her mind and focused on helping him. Clearly, she was not as spent as he was, so it was easy enough to get the rune untangled and press it into his hand. “Like I said, we’re safe here. You can rest. But I do have questions that require answering, when you’re up to it,” she said with a faint smile.

---

The mage quickly closed his hand around the rune, muttering a word quietly. Time, or Ahead. Almost instantly, he went limp, his breathing even and calm. His entire form seemed to shimmer green, but the signs of his fatigue were fading rapidly. He was still asleep, oblivious to the rune's effects on him, but he was resting. That's what was important. If Evan were to return soon, he might be able to answer the question of what exactly the rune was doing, but it had an obvious effect: for the mage, time was flowing rapidly, rather than at the average pace it usually held.

Everyone around them was becoming more and more anxious, and murmurs began to spread throughout the crowd. What was going on? People wanted answers. Alacra watched the mage without comment, praying that Evan would come back with any answers. And at last, he did. Slipping past the doors and removing his hood and mask, he raised a hand. "If I could have your attention," he tried, but no one seemed to hear him. "Please-" "Hey!" Alacra bellowed, and everything went dead silent, all heads turning toward her. "Listen to him," she said simply, and Evan smiled in thanks. "As I was saying, I've received intel that most everyone in this area of Alderaan has made it to a safe house. We are doing our best to bring things back to normal!" That seemed to calm people down, and they went back to talking among themselves. Evan made his way over to the Alacra and the mysterious mage. "I..may have lied," he whispered nervously. "The number of affected are..staggering, and they've begun changing in horrific ways." "Changing?" Alacra asked, looking slightly apprehensive. "They've begun morphing into these skeletal beasts and charging around the city. The Mist, as most call it right now, is still spreading."

---

Time seemed to stretch out, each minute, each second taking far too long. Anxious whispers, shuffling feet, and the sounds of panic all filled the bunker. Slowly, the mage began to stir. He shifted, let out a quiet groan.. Then, without warning, he gasped, his eyes flying open. For a few moments, he was still, simply trying to take in the scene. He blinked, then fumbled with his coat, tucking the rune he'd used back into the folds of the cloak. He stood rather shakily, brushing himself off and rolling his shoulders. Once he was happy with the aches and pains in his body, he turned to Alacra and Evan. He donned his cloak once more, his eyes bright and energetic. The gilded tint seemed to sparkle, as if his mind were suddenly made of gold. "You have questions, I can tell. I have answers, but... They might not be the best to tell, where so many ears can listen." He looked at Evan expectantly, glancing over his shoulder at the amount of people behind them. "The public may not be so... Welcoming to these potential truths."

Evan nodded. "There's an office in the back of the vault for cataloging. We can go there and get some privacy. Follow me." Evan led them to a room in the back of the vault, leading them inside and locking the door behind them. Alacra found the room a tight squeeze, moving to the back and crossing her arms, a slight scowl on her face as she tried not to knock over the boxes full of papers. "So, mystery man," she said expectantly, "You have answers?"

---

"Aye, I might." The mage did his best to make himself comfortable, shifting a little every few seconds. "I saw a skeletal vulture back at the inn. It was spreading the clouds, the fog. In the older myths of the Nords, there was a bird similar to that, a raven. A bird with pieces of flesh and feather missing around the skull, wings, and tail. It was said that if you looked through the holes in the wings or tail, you were infected with an ailment, and to look into the bird's empty eyes was to simply die. If the bird I saw is anything like that, anything old, then it's something brought forth with the mind of something sentient, something smart. If it's not old and no sentient mind summoned it, then there's a disaster impending. Either way, it's a beast of magic. I could feel the magic around it, something between necromancy, conjuration, and death." The mage shrugged. "It's a guess, but if it's even close to correct, then we've at least got a lead."

"Honestly, I'd have no idea where to start," Evan confessed, running a hand through his hair. "Magic is such a rare thing in Alderaan now, it's mostly become fairy tales and rumors. No one's seen something like this in years." Alacra was quiet, looking down at her feet, arms crossed. "I suppose I could take a look through the archives, see what I could find," Evan began, but Alacra interrupted him. "I might know something." Ezan looked up sharply. "Really?" "A while back, I heard..stories. The royal family tried to cover it up, and most of the major details were lost, but you know the tradition. There are always two siblings born to the crown. After the trials, the younger one, Elena, disappeared. The rumors say she was banished from the kingdom for witchcraft. That's the only person I know of who would do something like this, but hey, I've been wrong many, many times before."

---

"I didn't get a great look at the creature, but if it is witchcraft and not the average use of magicka, then my information draws short." The mage offered a shrug. "Any lead is worth looking in to, as long as we can find a way to keep safe from the 'issue' up top. If we can find where Elena was banished to, or her old room where she was caught with the accusation, then we can start an investigation on how to counter this."