An Apprentice's Ascension (Di Moon & Running Dutchman)

[Running Dutchman]

"Delayed again?!" the Archmage fumed as he paced the study, crumbling a letter in his hand.

"Your order at the Woodworkers Guild has been delayed again, sir?" The furtive question was of a calming nature, welcoming an emotional response. Samuel, one of Dumont's longest serving staff, actually didn't seem so impressed by the earlier outburst. His face was smooth and inexpressive as the insightful eyes followed the mage's pacing through the uppermost room of the towering spire that was their home. The man had a regal stature and a demanding look. Though luxurious wear betrayed a comfortable existence, the man-servant trusted the mage to be utterly in his element whether in a throne room or a cave. A memory of the Lord Dumont being trapped in the Slugfestered Marches by a rancorous witch, an example of some less glorious adventure and one filled with discomfort, made a brief smile play on Samuel's lips. It wasn't a reverie of malevolent nature, but rather the fond teasing kind shared in long-standing camaraderie.

"Yes, the Hall poses the constant raiding and robbery on the King's Highways as the reason. Their supply lines have become strained due to all those out-of-control robber barons, whom are becoming more daring by the day. I swear, Sam, this whole kingdom is falling into pieces."

"Yes, sir-"

"Back when the King actually had some authority the Houses were kept in check, but those damned nobles really have lost their last vestiges of sanity now. They all vie for power as they relish in greed, but they don't see they are destroying the very foundation Farheim was built on."

"Of course, sir."

Pausing, Lars regarded his faithful servant for a moment. With a big sigh he turned to the large windows that walled most of wide open space. The only place where the line-up of windows was broken, was where massive bookshelves reached to the ceiling, firmly pressed back into the cobblestone. "What do I even care," the mage muttered dejectedly as he stared across the wavy landscape of the Forlorn Hills. His hands were folded behind his back. The breathy, silken shirt, that he was wearing, allowed for a large range of motion. "My time of service is past, I won't be used to anyone's end, let alone those gluttonous snakes in court." Turning around he faced the patiently waiting Samuel. "Any other news?" he asked in more matter of fact tone.

"Nothing else, sir, though the crowd on the ground seems to be growing every day." The crowd he was referring to were the dislocated peasants, royal emissaries and other riff-raff gathering at the base of the tower every single day, desperately seeking an audience with the Archmage. Samuel, a gentle soul, truly felt for most of them really. Some of them just wanted Dumont's protection from overzealous bandits or encroaching monsters. However, his master had made it explicitly clear that he was done being anyone's saviour, refusing any responsibility that came with his vast arcane and political power. "Maybe my Lord could let a number of humble fellows make their case today? They don't have anywhere else to turn to, I'm afraid."

For a moment Lars contemplated the issue. To be fair, as soon as he indulged even one of the many requests, the little town would be flooded with needy souls putting their grim lots in his hands, which would undoubtedly be annoying. To avoid such a bleak situation, the mage made sure that even if or when he helped a person it would come at a great personal price. "Go down and make some of the clerks write up their cases, we'll see if we do anything about them later" he finally answered non-committedly.

As Samuel turned away towards the door and the many stairs winding down, he was stopped by a last remark from the mage. "Send someone up to the atrium, someone pretty and desperate. I could do with a distraction…"

 

[di moon]

Annakarah Aranmenel had taken a carriage, dropped off like an unwanted kitten on the side of the road. At least they’d left her at the gates of the keep and she didn’t have to do a great deal of walking…Her father was the sort to bring home a point by making someone walk with no aid…Make sure they knew there was no coming back if they failed. He knew how to make a person desperate, but he also didn’t want her looking unkempt and exhausted. It would keep him from gaining what he wanted-he thought…

Anna would make a point-even if she achieved what he desired her to do…She’d make sure he got not an advantage from it. Even if he tried to say something that could be inferred-she’d make sure they knew his claims had no weight, and the dog had a bark, but not teeth with which to bite.

She had some funds…She had her own line of income her father didn’t know about, so when she first arrived at the keep and was told the Lord wasn’t taking audiences today, she had found an inn nearby in which to stay…And then a small cottage to suit her after it became obvious she’d be turned away with others since the Lord wasn’t taking audiences…Over and over..

Anna made sure to keep her father apprised of her situation. She couldn’t force her way into the halls without risking what he wished to achieve. She had to be patient…Bide her time. And therefore he would just have to twist and rot on whatever hook he was on because there was nothing she could do about it. Though he did send a bit of coin to keep her after she complained her spending money had been depleted making sure she could stay in the area…If she hadn’t, he’d have become suspicious. She definitely didn’t want that.

Today…Today would be different. There seemed to be a silvery light to the world as she woke, and she knew…Today would be different…

She dressed prettily, and made her way to the gates, the layers of material showing a hint of skin as the paneled layers gave way to show her legs when she walked. A tapered waist, showing an hourglass figure…Her hair was braided, fine gold and silver beads and other small adornments that matched the gown she wore. Her father had wished her to look like a prize the man was receiving…And she held two letters, one from her father and one from herself…

The gates were open today, and she was shown to a clerk. She was told to sit, and asked what her reason was for being there. “My father sent me…” Was all she said, and handed over the two letters…

Her father’s letter was sealed with red wax and a ribbon, his seal pressed into the wax with its strange symble.

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Lord Lars Dumont,

I have sent my daughter to you in hopes you’ll have some use of her. She is yours until I must call her back or she displeases you and you wish to not see her again. I should warn you-like her mother, she had some strange gifts I don’t understand. I do not know if it was passed through her mother’s blood or upon her death, but she can do things others cannot. Perhaps you’ll find a worthy apprentice? We can only hope…

Duke Claude Aranmenel

Her own was on finer paper, and the seal was a mixture of teals and silvers, diamond dust making it sparkle in the light. Two A’s were interwoven over a crescent moon-her own seal in the wax…And there were even the petals of rare flowers pressed against the paper to keep it sealed with the wax.

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Mage Dumont,

I’m under no illusions…Plenty of women are pretty flowers in your garden-some you’ve plucked and given back to their families. I care not for all of that. I seek only to learn from you. My father hopes to reach his own goals through you, but I have my own plans, and you are the only one who could help me reach those goals. I would gladly entertain you in exchange for lessons. I fear one day I may do something to hurt another, and it may ignite another bout of hysteria against mages…I don’t think any of us would want that.

So, please, Mage Dumont. You’re my only hope to make sure I am not the start of another war in time. One that could very well mean trouble for yourself.

Annakarah Aranmenel.

 

[Running Dutchman]

Warm sunlight soon enveloped Tallandor, the Mage's tower, as the sun's ascension had gotten well underway. Lars sat his desk in the study, comfortably reading the Spellbook of Daedaro, a powerful sorcerer from ages past. Light flooded around him as he gorged on the runes and enchantments on the pages, completely lost to the world around him. Who could have imagined that the ancient Daedaro actually already had such a deep understanding of how leylines affected arcane flow in summoning spells? A tentative cough roused the mage from the book. Samuel had returned already, patiently waiting at the door to be asked to report. When Lars turned his gaze to the window to check the standing of the sun, he quickly realized quite some time had passed already.

"Anything interesting today, Sam?" the mage asked, lazily leaning back into his chair. The question prompted the servant to approach and put a fairly large stack of paper on the already messy desk.

"These are today's inquiries, Sir. I can't speak to whichever one should pique my Lord's interest. That is, I can't speak to whichever one would actually be fascinating enough to elicit further follow up, of course, Sir." To the untrained ear the servant's report might seem respectful, indicating the servant can't speak for his master, but in reality it was just Samuel's passive aggressive way of communication. It bothered the good man that so many came seeking help only to be turned away.

Dumont send the servant a piercing look, indicating that the meaning of Samuel's words was blatantly clear to him. He was just about to disregard the reports, when the light refracting on one of very top letter caught his attention. Taking the top letter off the stack with a frown engraved on his face, he send a questioning glance towards Samuel. "What's this?" the Archmage asked as he inspected the intricate seal. Although intimately familiar with all the Houses, Lars didn't recognize that one specifically.

"The top two letters are in regards to your later request, Sir. There's a lady at the base, who seems to fulfill your two criteria, pretty and desperate. The woman didn't introduce herself, other than indicating that she was sent by her patriarch, but did hand off those documents."

The explanation was met with a curt hum, signaling the unsatisfied curiosity. The wax on the second letter was instantly recognized for the House of Aranmenel, of course. The mage was more intrigued by the mystery of the unknown seal, than the contents of the letter ever could. Opening both letters and taking time to read them thoroughly, the mage quickly came to understand the situation. So it was just another noble trying to exchange their spawn for favor. At least this one had the added bonus of professed magical talents and a pretended rebellious spirit, which earned a chuckle from the mage. No doubt just another ploy, another scheme, humans with any aptitude for the Arcane were more rare than a horse with five legs. After contemplating for a moment, Lars commanded the woman to be send up. "Make sure she understands that if she can't entertain, can't satisfy, she can go crawling back home."

The atrium was a large hall, halfway along the length of the tower. It was a tall, circular space, as most rooms in Tallandor, since the whole structure was round. The middle of the room was raised, a few steps languidly cascading down. Far above was a balustrade with little alcoves adorning the wall. In that space kings and queens had been received, great banquets been feasted upon, awesome plays been acted, but now it had stood empty for a while. A reminder of the lull in stability and the growing tension in the kingdom. Heavy curtains hung before the windows, stretching from floor till ceiling, making the whole room dark and dim.

Up above on the balustrade the Archmage waited. Before long the young woman was led into the room by Samuel and left on the raised platform. Though light was sparse, Lars' eyes had adjusted, and he could clearly see that the lady was indeed quite beautiful. Her hair, figure, all those adornments, the hints of skin, she really was allure embodied. It made the mage scoff. He had been offered women of peerless fairness from every reach of the continent. Mere beauty was not enough to garner his interest. Besides he was just there to have some fun and to distract himself from his worries.

Dumont's eyes slowly started to glow a dimmed deep blue hue, an extension of his own eye-color, as he cast a spell. The shadows in the room seemed to take shape, somehow consolidating, and took the form of a unidentifiable man. It was barely visible, only if one knew it was there, one'd notice it, the slighter deeper darkness of shadow. But one could surely feel it, it was tangible. The being's texture was like the softest velvet, and with barely and pressure, it's touch was like a soft caress. One formed, then another and another.

"Annakarah Aranmenel, make your case. Why should I take you in?" The demanding, stern question echoed from above. Though still hidden from sight, the mage presence on the balustrade above was unmistakable. While the voice drew attention to the above, the three shadows slowly approached the dais. Their hands stretched out, they reached towards the young woman. Their chilly forms hungered for her warm touch, her skin. They wouldn't hesitate to slip between, nudge away or tear off any piece of wear either. Up above, the Archmage grinned, let's see if that story, that ploy would hold up under pressure and distraction.

 

[di moon]

Anna was shown to a room to wait a bit. Just to see if something might be done-she’d been told. A few others were left to wait-obviously those the clerks thought pretty enough to be enticing to the mage, and tempting him with their sob-stories. She knew if she failed, then she would have to fall back on her own income-which could keep her comfortable. No big parties, but a nice cottage, her privacy…She could do that…But the financial part wasn’t her concern. Her concern was the power she could feel all around her-even stronger here…Like thousands of butterflies crawling over her skin, and making her hair stand up just enough to make goosebumps rise on her skin.

Anna walked around the room as the other girls murmured and giggled amongst themselves, talking of the things they had heard. They might enjoy the bedplay, but she had the feeling plenty would be eager for that…Ruination with a smile, she supposed. That was probably much of the appeal…And the man didn’t know that he was simply making new enemies every time he sent a girl back to her parents with her maidenhead not intact.

Oh, the very idea that men were trading their daughters for potential things was well known. It was an unspoken agreement…But much as men joked about spurned women-she knew a spurned man could be far more vicious when he took a notion. He turned enough of the nobles against him, they were going to look elsewhere than him, and that would mean religious zealots who would have the peasants who questioned their new power burned as witches, and would do far worse to those who could wield true power. It wouldn’t be hard to turn a mage into the villain of some tale…Cause enough pain and suffering that people turned their anger towards them because they refused to step out of their ivory towers and they would seek to tear down those towers…Mages would want to defend what was theirs…And a tale of a new villain was out in the world…

And it wouldn’t be the Church, because the mage wouldn’t come down from his high horse to show he wasn’t the one who needed to be feared by those who meant no harm.

The clerk returned and gestured for her to follow him. She walked with him. “You seem a clever girl. I trust you understand that if he finds you lacking then you will be forced to go back to your family in failure.”

“I am not so concerned with achieving my father’s ends as my own, but I will keep that in mind,” she said with a soft grin. Let him take it to her father. He thought her to stupid to do anything but what she was told.

She was shown to the atrium, and she looked around, feeling the energy of the flowers here. It was strange how things in such places where she felt this…On her skin the strongest seemed to glow to her gaze with the energy they had absorbed in their time…Even the man who was hiding his presence from her physical sight couldn’t hide from that other sight. The shadows moved about her, extensions of that glow on the balcony above. Even if she could only sense that presence…She still would have felt it…Like some beast in the dark waiting to pounce.

“Why wouldn’t you? You’re obviously bored. You read something that was interest to you. And honestly-if you don’t take me in, I could end up hurting someone. The church will get involved…They have a little too much power for my liking, and with the King being as weak as he now is that the nobles move openly against his interests in lieu of their own-it won’t be hard for them to take power. Back the right noble, usurp the King whether through an advantageous marriage or killing him and putting their own puppet on the throne. One person…” She lifted her hand, a soft, silvery light rising from her palm, an orb of light, she managed to shield just enough-a parlor trick from what she had learned, but she’d not found anyone else who could do it…Still, she could toss it back and forth between her palms and at others, but when she lost her concentration-she could hurt someone with that light, and tossed it towards the shadow figures to toss about as they saw fit-play with the energy until it managed to escape the shields and wreak some havoc of its own…”I can’t always control it. If I’m startled, exhausted, or afraid or in pain-I can’t control what it does…I have figured out a few things through the precious few books I’ve managed to get my hands on-but the church has moved to start burning the books-calling them portals of knowledge to demons and witchcraft that can be used against godly men and women-those who follow the church like the sheep they claim to be shepherds over…”

She looked towards the balcony. “I won’t go home. I’ll find some quiet, out of the way place…But how long will such quiet and solitude last? I’d be willing to trade entertainments for lessons. So long as my father is here, he won’t entertain the church’s advances towards his house, but…Once I leave, I can’t be sure what he’ll do in order to secure his hold on what power he has.”

 

[Running Dutchman]

Suddenly every single thing about the young woman irked Lars. From up on his perch Annakarah seemed awfully calm and collected, not at all how he intended. She had carefully inspected her surroundings before conjuring that tiny ball of light. It didn't take long for the light to consume the creatures of pure darkness, their figures twisting and slinking away into the ball of light before they altogether vanished with the orb. The spellpower it required was minimal, but it was an elegant solution to the problem the shadows had posed. Though the spell itself wasn't anything worth of note, the effortless way she had spun it, perfectly countering the nature of the shadows, spoke to her natural ability and intellect.

The lady wanted lessons, but the mage really wasn't at all interested in having a clueless apprentice. He had entertained the idea of being a mentor in the past, but now it just seemed a great hassle. The man just wanted to be left to his devices, unbothered by the world, let alone having to deal with that silly girl. Annakarah had spoken like she saw right through the thick layers of subterfuge and sabotage being played in Farheim's court, which only proved her naivety. 'Killing the King' and 'putting puppets on the throne' - she wasn't wrong, but did she realize that hundreds or thousands of soldiers, peasants and innocents died for every powermove the Nobles made?

Then there was the way miss Aranmenel had so casually laid out the options, how she saw them of course. Her words had a cunning edge to them. There was a threat hidden away there - take me in or suffer the consequences yourself. Even Lars had demanded Annakarah convince him, any merit to the claims was easily disregarded and as she would soon learn, Archmages do not respond well to threats...

Dumont's eyes flared and in a single flicker he stood behind her, his lips a hair's breadth from her right ear. Teleporting was finicky and deadly business, the mage would never contemplate teleporting blind, unable to see where he'd arrive, let alone over great distances. It was only his deep attunement to Tallandor and the well of power the leylines formed there that allowed him to shift between places so comfortably. Lars' hand quickly found Anna's jaw, firmly keeping it in place, disabling her from putting her eyes on him.

"Foolish girl," he growled, "did you really think you could show up and barter, or even threaten your way in?" Releasing her with a very restrained shove, he stepped back and regarded her almost nonchalantly.

"You're a long way away from home, your name carries no weight in these parts. Did you really think you were so special? Don't you know about how young witches, mages and druids get abandoned, exiled or burned here?" The Archmages eyes flared, a quick hand gesture and suddenly the woman's intricate clothes were set ablaze at the hem. The flames licked their way up, burning as it went. The fire was warm on her skin, but ultimately quite harmless to the touch, smokeless and even left no ashes, but it climbed up burning Anna's garb.

"To the common folk you're no better than the beasts and demons out there in the wild. They only value strength and whatever you can offer them, but you're weak - only the powerful survive and thrive! The powerful and the protected..."

Then with another flash the Archmage was gone, teleported away. A voice echoed down the tower though, sounding distant unlike before. "Find me at the top of the spire or leave." Another door croaked open, revealing a hallway leading to stairs. The bustling sound of activity, the clerks' complaints, the content humming of caretakers and the bellowing of a chef rolled out the corridor into the atrium. Something about Annakarah Aranmenel had made an impression on the Archmage, but he remained unconvinced thusfar...

 

[di moon]

The mage seemed to take umbrage with something she said, but really-it was a statement of fact. She found it strange that if a woman made a simple statement of fact, men saw threats and seemed to get their undergarments in the wads that they accused women of having their panties in. Simple statements of fact were called threats, and then men took offense. She wondered how the man would take her words if she’d had a cock instead of a hole between her legs…

He seemed to be more upset over the fact she’d dare make a statement of fact to him. One he knew was true. He said all the things they both knew, as if she was an idiot, and she wasn’t…But she would rather die on her feet than cowering…And at least if he’d burn her here, it wouldn’t start a war-whereas outside these walls-it would…Mage and non-mage…He thought she had just a few parlor tricks up her sleeve, but she knew better.

The quiet seemed to be stabbed through by the normal noises of castles and keeps. Disgruntled clerks, workers, cooks…She was only missing the sounds of horses, dogs, and chickens from a bailey to feel as if she had suddenly found herself in any number of castles rather than a mage’s keep. She moved towards the stairs and began to climb them, up-up-up…

Part of her told her she should leave-that he’d only seek to humiliate her and nothing more…Still, there was a better chance of her not being the start of a war if she stayed. If he decided he wanted nothing more than to humiliate her and teach her her so-called place, then she’d leave. One way or another…

Something landed on her shoulder, and she looked over to see the small creature. It looked like if a flower took on a human form, and even had petals for wings. She quickly put her hair over it to hide it, though-as easily as she could see the magic of this place, she didn’t doubt a trained mage would see the creature. In her homelands, such creatures were how you could supposedly tell a witch was nearby-they said they were small-folk and used to plague and curse the common folk. So far, she’d managed to keep the few that had started to pop up around her in check or they’d turned back into a plant before they became a nuisance-she didn’t know how to do it at will, but somehow she’d managed it…Probably her desperation taking form and making the poor things revert…

“You shouldn’t be here…” She hadn’t tried to make it…Things like this were why she sought out some other help. Eventually these small little creatures were going to be larger creatures that wouldn’t be easily swatted aside.

The noises below began to fade as she kept climbing, and eventually, she was nearing the top.